


Learning Curve

by allfinehere



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, AU - America, AU - United States, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Parentlock, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2017-12-16 02:46:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 41,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/856874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allfinehere/pseuds/allfinehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a Kindergarten teacher. One of his students, a boy named Henry Holmes, refuses to speak in school. John is determined to get to the bottom of it, and that is how he meets Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Curva de Aprendizaje](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168088) by [CottonSiu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CottonSiu/pseuds/CottonSiu)
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Learning Curve | 学习曲线](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1774801) by [yikshuontheroad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yikshuontheroad/pseuds/yikshuontheroad)



> Translation into Russian available: [Learning Curve](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2049039) by [Cub Fox](http://ficbook.net/authors/Cub+Fox)
> 
> This is my first attempt at any sort of parentlock, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. I'm a teacher, so I figured...write what you know, haha. This is set somewhere in the United States because I'm familiar with the curriculum here. 
> 
> I'd really like it if you readers would leave me comments about things you'd like to see happen in the story. I'm very open to suggestions! 
> 
> I might change the rating later on, but for now it's General Audiences.

Fingers tapped out an uneven rhythm as John listened to the phone ring on the other end, waiting for someone to pick up. At least he hadn’t had to call relatives and emergency contacts due to a disconnected number, which happened far too often for his liking. In the middle of the fifth ring, there was an answer.

“Hello?” asked a deep, resonant voice which took John by surprise, though he wasn’t quite sure why.

“Yes, hi, this is John Watson. Am I speaking to Mr. Holmes?”

“You are,” he replied, and then silence reigned on the other end of the line.

“Good, right. I’m your son’s teacher,” John began. Unfortunately, it had to be said because parental involvement was low and some parents simply didn’t know or didn’t care.

“Yes, I am aware,” came the cool reply. Well, that was at least hopeful for what John had to say.

“Of course. I’m calling because Henry - well, to be quite frank, I haven’t heard him speak a single word. It’s not unusual for children to be quiet the first few weeks of Kindergarten while they adjust to their new classmates and surroundings, but I haven’t heard him say so much as ‘hello.’ Does he speak at home at all?” John asked. 

“Oh, certainly. Incessantly, in fact,” Mr. Holmes replied, with no further explanation. 

“Oh, well...that’s good to know,” John replied, at a loss as to how to continue the conversation as Mr. Holmes didn’t seem concerned. “I was wondering if we might meet - with Henry there, of course - to discuss some ways to get him more vocally involved in the classroom.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Watson. Thank you for your concern, though. Henry will see you tomorrow.” That being said, he hung up. 

John listened to the dial tone in slight shock for a few seconds before hanging up his own phone. He could not fathom why Mr. Holmes didn’t seem to be concerned about the fact that his son had decided to be selectively mute at school. It would inhibit his learning and his ability to make friends, and he was at an age where successful interactions with peers were just as important as being able to recite and recognize the alphabet. 

Sighing, he picked up a stack of papers. It was Thursday, which meant he needed to go through the completed assignments from the week so they could go home with the students the next day. He got out a blue stamp pad and a stamp with a smiling star that said “Great Work!” for the assignments that had been completed properly and got started. While he worked, he thought about ways he might get Henry to start speaking. The boy seemed perfectly content to work and play on his own, so getting one of the more outgoing students to befriend him probably wouldn’t be successful. They would be starting a unit on family soon, though, so perhaps John could get Henry to talk about his family. And if he did, that might unravel some mysteries about his father as well.

***

Several days later the kids were working on little books describing different roles in their families. On each page they were supposed to draw pictures of someone in their family doing a certain job. John had been teaching them how to draw people that weren’t simple stick figures, and was pleased with what he saw as he walked around the room. When he arrived at the Tiger table (each table group was named after an animal), he was surprised to see that Henry had done nothing but write his name on the front of his book. Unlike most of the kids, Henry already knew how to write his name perfectly. His printing was a little shaky, but there were no backwards letters or mixed-up lowercase and uppercase letters. John had encouraged the kids to label their pictures and had been excited to see what Henry would do. At this stage, most kids would write a letter or two to represent a word, but Henry had shown promise in the beginning of the year assessments. However, his paper remained blank.

John crouched down next to him. “Ready to get started, Henry?” he asked. Henry looked at him with large, serious grey eyes but gave no reply. John opened the booklet to the first page. The page said ‘Mom’ at the top and had a blank space underneath to draw a picture. “So what’s something your mom likes to do?” 

Henry stared at the paper and gave no answer. John tried again. “Does she make you breakfast?” 

Henry shook his head. 

“All right,” John replied. “Does she take you to the park?” 

Again, Henry shook his head.

“Does she play with you?” 

Negative.

John thought for a minute, then held his hands out palm-up. “Who helps you get ready for school in the morning? Mommy?” he asked, gesturing with his his right hand, “or Daddy?” he asked, gesturing with his left hand. 

Henry immediately reached out and touched John’s left hand. Since that method had been successful, John asked another question. “Does Mommy or Daddy make dinner?” Again, Henry touched John’s left hand. John was relieved; finally he was getting somewhere. He asked one of his original questions, feeling he knew what the answer would be. “Who takes you to the park?” Henry touched John’s left hand once more, looking almost bored with the little interview. 

“Okay Henry, how about you just skip this first page and move on to the next one,” John suggested kindly. “Remember when we were all talking together and I said if you don’t have to do a page if that person isn’t a part of your family?” he reminded the boy. Henry nodded in reply. The second page said ‘Dad’ at the top, and Henry eagerly grabbed his pencil and got to work. 

It looked like another phone call to Mr. Holmes was in order, and John was not particularly looking forward to it.

***

When all the students had left and John had tidied up the room and set out the warm-up work for the next day, he looked up Mr. Holmes’s number and dialed. This time the phone was picked up on the second ring. 

“Mr. Watson,” said the voice on the other end that took John by surprise a second time, which was silly since he knew what to expect.

“Yes, hello Mr. Holmes,” John began, determined not to be a pushover this time. “I’m calling because Henry had a bit of trouble with one of his assignments today.”

There was a slight pause. “Trouble? I find that hard to believe. Henry is very intelligent.”

“It wasn’t really to do with intelligence.” John hesitated, then continued. “I know this is a personal question, but is Henry’s mother in the picture? I only ask because we were working on a family booklet and he had nothing to write for the ‘mom’ page. I told the kids it was fine to skip pages if that person wasn’t involved in their family, but he seemed particularly troubled by it.”

“No. She is not,” Mr. Holmes replied shortly. “Tell me, Mr. Watson. If Henry does not speak in school, how did you gather enough evidence to call me with this issue?”

That was an odd way to put it, John thought. Gathering evidence? “I asked him questions and gave him two options for answers, one associated with my right hand and one with my left,” John explained. “He picked the hand with the answer he wanted to give.”

“Hm. I think we should meet to discuss this in person,” Mr. Holmes replied. 

John rolled his eyes. Hadn’t he suggested that last week? “Yes, all right. Can you meet after school tomorrow?”

“That would be acceptable. I will see you then.” That being said, he hung up the phone. 

John rubbed his hands over his face, palms rasping against his stubble. This wasn’t going to be an easy meeting, but at least he might get to the bottom of whatever was going on with Henry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates won't usually be this frequent, but I get impatient and like to post things right when I finish them haha.
> 
> If you have any suggestions about what you'd like to see, let me know in the comments!

The following day went by quickly and uneventfully, and John was wiping down the tables as the kids left when he remembered he was supposed to be meeting with Mr. Holmes after school. He hastily took down chairs and set them up at the Meerkat table, then grabbed a few papers, a notebook, and a pen from his desk and placed them at the table.

Peering out into the hallway, John spotted Henry talking to a tall, dark-haired man with curls that matched Henry’s. “Mr. Holmes?” John asked as he stepped out of the room.

The man looked up and gave John a polite smile that did not reach his eyes. “Yes, Mr. Watson. We have a meeting today, I believe?” he asked in a manner that implied it wasn’t a question at all.

“Yeah, come on in,” John replied, inviting them into the room. “And you can call me John, if you like.”

“Sherlock,” the man replied as he surveyed the room with a calculating glance.

“I’m afraid the conference room is booked today, so we’ll be talking in here. Sorry about the chairs,” he said with an apologetic smile, motioning to the Kindergartner-sized chairs. They weren’t much of a issue for John, but they might prove difficult for someone of Sherlock’s height.

“Not a problem,” Sherlock replied, sitting and managing to make it look as if he were at comfortably at ease in the undersized chair.

Henry was standing at his dad’s side, hands clutched around the straps of his backpack. His gaze flickered back and forth between John and Sherlock, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. However, he voiced no concern. John had been hoping he might speak now that his dad was there, but no such luck.

“You can go get out some toys if you want, Henry,” John suggested. “Or you could sit here with us. Whichever you like.”

Henry looked uncertainly at his dad, who nodded and gave him a warm smile. Henry gave him a tiny smile in return, then dropped his backpack and headed straight for the shelf with the magnet tiles. He got the tub out, but brought it back to the Meerkat table and proceeded to dump the contents at Sherlock’s feet, where he sat and began building.

“Right,” John began. “So I was -”

“Tell me, John,” Sherlock interrupted smoothly. “Why does a man go from being a soldier to being a teacher? Obviously you were invalided out of the army, but why choose teaching small children as a career?”

John’s response should have been something along the lines of ‘I believe we’re here to discuss your son today, not my career choices.’ What he said instead was, “How did you know?”

Sherlock smirked. “The pictures you’ve got on your desk. You’re in uniform in a few, but you’re much younger. And the postcard from your friend who’s been deployed again. You hold your left shoulder more stiffly than your right.” He shrugged. “Simple enough to figure out that bit.”

To Sherlock’s apparent surprise, John smiled. “I should tell you off for being nosy, but that...well, that was amazing,” John admitted.

“That’s not what people usually say,” Sherlock said with a half-smile.

“Oh?”

“Mm. They generally respond with things unsuitable for little ears,” Sherlock replied with a glance at his son, who was busily constructing some sort of fortress.

John laughed. “Fair enough. To be honest, after I got shot and sent home I wasn’t sure what to do. I was going out of my mind sitting in my apartment all day, so I started volunteering in my sister’s kids’ school. I liked working with kids, so I went back to school to become a teacher and here I am.” He shrugged, fiddling with his pen. “So, what made you reconsider meeting me?” he asked, shifting focus to the reason they were currently sitting at a tiny table in tiny chairs.

“Ah, yes. As you know, Henry does not speak outside of home. On occasion he will nod or shake his head to answer a stranger’s questions, but those are rare. You can imagine, therefore, that I was intrigued to find out that he not only answered your questions, but took a more active role in choosing an answer,” Sherlock replied, folding his hands and resting them on his legs. “It seems you are a unique man, John,” he said, gazing levelly at John with piercing blue-green eyes. That in combination with his last statement threw John a little off course.

“I - um, well I don’t know about that,” he deflected. “But I’m certainly glad he’s shown a willingness to communicate. I can make accommodations for him, but school is going to be difficult for him if he remains selectively mute,” John said seriously.

Going through the papers in front of him, John pulled out the small family booklet they had been working on and handed it to Sherlock. “Here’s what we were working on the other day. The kids were allowed to leave the pages that didn’t apply to their families blank. Take a look at the page for ‘dad’,” John said with a smile.

There was a [carefully drawn and colored picture of Sherlock](http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h112/ebunny7/LearningCurve_1_zpsec2b6ba0.png) wearing a blue shirt, black pants, and black shoes. He wore a smile and held what looked like a microscope in his hand, which was confirmed by the label Henry wrote: ‘mikroskop’. There were also a few glass beakers (cups) and what appeared to be an animal head wearing headphones in the background (moos). The drawing of Sherlock was holding a violin (viulin) in his other hand.

John watched Sherlock as he studied the picture. The man smiled as he observed what his son drew, pride showing on his features. “It’s all very accurate,” he commented. “Brilliant job, Henry,” he said to his son, who looked up and beamed at him momentarily before continuing construction on his project.

“It really is brilliant,” John repeated. “His ability to discern sounds in words is far above what we’d expect from Kindergartners at the beginning of the year. His attention to detail in the picture is fantastic, too. Do you two work on things at home?”

“We read quite a lot,” Sherlock replied. “I sometimes do observational drawings for my work and Henry wanted to try too, so I set him up with his own little drawing kit,” Sherlock added. “He’s gotten quite good. He practices nearly every day,” he said, a note of pride returning to his voice.

“Are you a scientist?” John asked.

“Of sorts. I like to conduct experiments in my spare time, and I’ll sometimes do them for cases. I’m a consulting detective,” he explained.

John looked confused. “I’m afraid I haven’t heard of that.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have. I’m the only one, so far as I can tell,” Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

“So...is that like a private detective?” John asked, still confused.

Sherlock smirked. “No. The police consult me when they get out of their depth. Which is often.”

John nodded, then realized they had strayed off topic for the second time. “Getting back to the booklet there, I was wondering if you might tell me a bit more about Henry’s mother, if it isn’t too private. I’m assuming it’s just you and him at home?” John asked carefully.

Sherlock confirmed with a quick nod. “Yes. His mother signed over all parental rights to me after he was born. She doesn’t wish to be a part of either of our lives. I...had thought that Henry understood and was okay with things as they were, but apparently I was mistaken,” Sherlock said, then pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“Beginning Kindergarten can be a bit of a cultural shock for kids,” John said gently. “They become suddenly aware that not every family is like theirs and it can be disorienting. You could talk with him about it at home,” John suggested. “I’ll do my best to handle it on this end, but I’m not sure how far I’ll get without him actually speaking to me. He might just need some more time to adjust to school and his classmates,” John said lightly, though he was aware that the issue could be deeper. “I could make up a list of books on the topic you two could read together,” he offered.

“Thank you,” Sherlock replied, sounding a little surprised. “I appreciate your willingness to help my son.”

John smiled. “Think nothing of it. Just doing my job.” He looked down at Henry’s creation. “Did you build a castle to keep out the dragons?”

Henry shook his head and frowned slightly, looking at John expectantly.

“Ah...to keep out people?” John ventured.

Smiling, Henry scooted to John’s side and picked up John’s hands, arranging them so they were both palm-up. Glancing over, John noted that Sherlock was watching with intense interest. “All right, you want a choice,” John began. “Is the castle for dragons, or for people?” he asked, motioning with each hand for each choice.

With a grin, Henry picked John’s right hand for ‘dragons.’ “A castle _for_ dragons. Interesting choice,” John laughed. “I think your dad and I are about done talking, so could you clean up?”

With a dramatic smash, Henry’s castle came toppling down and John returned his attention to Sherlock, who was staring at him as if he’d performed some great feat. “Well, unless there’s anything else you’d like to discuss, I think we’re all set. You can take the family book home with you, and I’ll send home a list of books with Henry tomorrow. Sound good?”

Sherlock nodded as he helped Henry put his backpack on. “Yes, thank you,” he replied. “Ready to go home?” he asked Henry, who nodded.

“See you tomorrow, Henry,” John called as the pair walked out the door. Henry turned to wave goodbye, and then they were gone. With a small smile on his face, John sat down at his computer to compose a list.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Changing things up a bit with Sherlock's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I'd love to hear about things you guys would like to see happen!

When they arrived home, Sherlock retrieved Henry’s take-home folder from his backpack, as he did every day to check for any notes. Today there was a short newsletter printed on mint green paper.

Dear Families,

This past week we began a unit on families, where we have been learning about different kinds of people that make up a family, their roles, what it means to be a family, and that not everyone’s family is the same. So far the students have come up with a lot of great observations and questions, which we will discover the answers to as a class (see reverse side for our KWL chart - the kids can tell you what it means!). Below I have listed some websites and books you might want to check out for further information and discussion as a family. If you have any questions or concerns, please let me know.

Have a great week!  
Mr. Watson

Sherlock flipped the paper over to look at the chart. “Henry, what is a ‘KWL chart?’” he asked as he read.

Henry looked up from the apple slices he was busily munching. “Oh, that’s for seeing things we know - that’s K, and the W is for things we wanna know so that’s our questions, and L is for the stuff we learned when we get answers for our questions,” he replied around a mouthful of fruit.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. But that’s very interesting,” Sherlock replied. “Tell me something you’ve learned, then. That part on this chart Mr. Watson put on the back is blank.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “That’s ‘cause we’re still doing that part. It’s not done yet.”

“All right. What have you learned?”

“I learned that Katie gots two daddies,” Henry said offhandedly, very focused on finishing his apple as he eyed a pile of books across the room.

“She _has_ two daddies,” Sherlock corrected. “Is one a stepdad?” 

“Nah. She just has two daddies and no mommies. She said she doesn’t need any mommies ‘cause her daddies love her more than a hundred mommies.” Henry scrunched up his face in a puzzled expression for a moment, as if he were still trying to figure that one out. “So maybe it’s okay that I don’t got a mommy ‘cause she doesn’t either. But she gots - _has_ two daddies, so am I gonna get another daddy?”

Sherlock felt a pang of guilt at his son’s innocent question. He tried his best to be enough for Henry - and perhaps he was - but Henry seemed to be fixated on a two-parent household as the norm. 

“It, ah, doesn’t quite work like that,” Sherlock explained. “Katie has two daddies because they both prefer men. The majority of couples will be one man and one women, but that’s not always the case. Some couples are two women, and some are two men.”

Henry gave him a blank look, and Sherlock realized he needed to explain in a more Kindergarten-friendly manner. “Ah...well, I suppose it just depends on whom you love. If a man loves a man and they have a baby, there are two daddies. If a woman loves a woman and they have a baby, there are two mommies. If a man loves a woman, there is one mommy and one daddy.”

Comprehension dawned on Henry’s face. “So anybody can love anybody,” he summed up. 

“In simple terms, yes,” Sherlock replied. 

Henry gave him a look with those serious grey eyes that Sherlock knew meant he was about to have to answer a difficult question. “You and mommy had me, but she isn’t here. So do you love daddies instead?”

For a moment Sherlock considered calling up Mr. Watson and putting him on with Henry to answer all these questions, since they were his fault anyway. Not that John would be able to answer personal questions about Sherlock. Ah, the joys of parenting.

“It’s...a bit more complicated than that,” Sherlock began. He had never been one to sugar coat things for Henry or to tell him anything less than the truth, so he forged on. “What matters to me is what kind of person they are, not necessarily if they are a man or a woman.”

Henry nodded sagely, as if this was a simple issue to understand. “Okay,” he said, finishing his apple. “Let’s read books now.”  
Sherlock smiled and followed Henry to the sitting room, mildly relieved that he didn’t have to offer up any more explanations at the moment. He was certain they were far from finished with the topic, though. Much like his father, once Henry became curious about something he wouldn’t be satisfied until he had all the answers.

***

That night Sherlock laid in bed, staring at the ceiling in thought as sleep evaded him. Before Henry his sleep schedule had been highly erratic, but he realized he needed to normalize it somewhat when his nocturnal activities woke Henry. Now he kept to his room at night, though he made sure to have plenty of things to occupy himself as he needed less sleep than the average person.

He couldn’t help but feel he was letting Henry down by not actively seeking a partner, but then again Henry might not welcome the intrusion on their family. Sherlock found dating tedious and unpleasant, and he had no real desire to share his life with someone other than his son. The night that had resulted in Henry had been just that - one night. He had been relieved that Henry’s mother wanted nothing to do with them rather than worried about how he was going to cope on his own. It had been a rough transition having a newborn baby in his home, but it was a challenge he had accepted readily and eagerly. Sherlock had done many impressive things in his life, but helping to create Henry had been by far the best. He smiled as he thought of his son currently sleeping in a tangled mess of Avengers sheets, clutching a well-loved stuffed rabbit in a death grip.

Sherlock had known these questions were going to come up sooner or later, though he had been hoping for later. Tomorrow he would investigate the list of books John had provided in a hand-written note attached to Henry’s newsletter, and perhaps a few of the websites as well. He had to admit to himself that he was intrigued by John. Henry hadn’t responded so readily to anyone outside what he considered to be his immediate family, which included Sherlock, his brother Mycroft, the Lieutenant Sherlock worked with, and their landlady, Mrs. Hudson. What was it that made John an exception to the rule? Their brief meeting hadn’t been enough. Sherlock was going to have to devise a way to meet with him again, though considering Henry’s issues at school it shouldn’t be much of a problem to set up another meeting to discuss them. Of course, before he went any further, he should probably simply ask Henry what made John different.

***

The next morning Henry was happily munching on strawberry jam-covered toast, legs swinging off the high stool he was seated on. Unlike Sherlock, who was picky about his food, Henry would eat anything placed in front of him. Sherlock sipped at his tea and asked, “Why do you like Mr. Watson?”

Henry thought for a moment, then took a drink of his juice. “‘Cause he’s nice. He doesn’t get mad when I don’t talk and he doesn’t treat me like a baby like other people do. And he lets us play with Legos at free choice time. He even helped me make a pirate ship one time!”

Sherlock chuckled and finger-combed Henry’s wild brown curls. “Well then he must be a good teacher.”

“Yup,” Henry confirmed as he shoved the rest of his toast in his mouth. “Okay daddy let’s go,” he mumbled around his mouthful of toast.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Sherlock reminded him for the umpteenth time. “Why are you in such a rush today?”

“We’re doin’ a science ‘speriment,” he replied as he pulled on his shoes and stuck his feet out at Sherlock, who obligingly knelt down and tied them. 

“You need to start learning how to tie your shoes soon.”

“Yeah, Drew can tie his already, but he’s the only one. I could be the other only one!”

Sherlock smiled. “You certainly could. All right, up you get. I want to hear all about your science experiment when I pick you up from school,” he said as they walked down the stairs and out the door. 

“Okay,” Henry replied. “I’ll make some notes like you do.” 

Henry’s ‘notes’ consisted of a few bullet-pointed words like he’d seen Sherlock do, as well as a few lines of scribbles. To be fair, Sherlock had notoriously messy handwriting and to a five year old, it probably did look like scribbles. 

“Well then, I look forward to them,” Sherlock replied.

The walk to school only took about ten minutes, and soon Henry was bounding up the steps and into the building. Sherlock waved goodbye, then set out at a brisk pace to the nearest bookstore, the note from John in his pocket. He had some research to do.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear there will be more John/Sherlock interaction next chapter. Thanks for sticking with me! I'm on vacation so the next chapter will be up on July 7th at the earliest, but probably a few days after that.

“Mr. Watson! Henry’s crying!”

John looked up from the pile of guided reading books he was trying to sort into their proper bins. He often got reports of kids crying, and it usually wasn’t a big deal. It also usually wasn’t Henry. Grabbing a tissue, he went over to Tiger table and crouched down next to Henry. He handed the tissue to Henry, who wiped it all over his face to dry the tears. 

“Can anyone tell me what happened?” John asked.

“Henry’s crying!” blurted Mazie, a small girl with blonde pigtails.

“Yes, I know,” John replied. “Can anyone tell me _why_ he’s crying?”

Mazie pointed a chubby finger accusingly at the boy next to Henry. “Robert was mean to him! He said his family’s the best one ‘cause he has a dad anna mom anna sister and Henry only gots a dad and _I_ don’t have a sister!”

“Nu-uh!” Robert yelled with a frown. “I didn’t say that!”

“Yes you did!” Mazie insisted.

“Okay, okay,” John interrupted. “Robert, do you remember our talks about families?”

“Yeah,” Robert mumbled, arms crossed over his chest.

“And all families the same or different?” John asked.

“Different,” Robert replied sullenly.

“Is one kind of family better than another kind?”

“No,” said the boy, averting his gaze to his handwriting book.

“All right then. You need to tell Henry and Mazie you’re sorry for hurting their feelings.” John looked at the other two children. Mazie was angry and self-righteous in her teacher’s justification of her being correct, but Henry was quiet and withdrawn, absently looking out the window. 

“Sorry Mazie. Sorry Henry,” Robert mumbled. 

“It’s okay,” Mazie said begrudgingly. Then she continued working in her workbook, all troubles apparently forgotten. 

Henry was not so quick to recover. He was now staring at the floor, playing idly with his pencil. 

“Henry, are you okay?” John asked. Henry looked at John, eyes bright with tears, but made no move to answer.

“Would you like to come finish your work at the reading table?” he asked. The reading table was a kidney-shaped table near John’s desk where John met with reading groups, and if a child could not concentrate on their work at their table, felt uncomfortable, or were being a distraction to their tablemates, they often came and worked at the reading table. 

Henry nodded slightly and picked up his things, then wove his way through the tables and sat down at his new temporary spot. Looking over as John sat down at his desk, Henry gave him a tiny, watery smile then began practicing the letter I. 

John returned his smile, but he was worried. Robert was a very charismatic child and if other students began to follow his lead talking about ‘real’ families, that could mean trouble for many of the students in the class who did not come from traditional father-mother families. They would have to have another whole-group discussion this afternoon, and if the behavior continued it meant notes and phone calls home to parents. John knew Mazie would be fine, having already recovered from the incident and moved on, but he would probably need to call Henry’s father after school. Again. Sighing, John picked up a stack of papers that needed correcting and hoped that Sherlock wouldn’t think he was a horrendous teacher.

Hearing the clank of a chair being clumsily pulled out in true Kindergarten fashion, John looked up to see that Grace had deposited her things next to Henry at the reading table. Grace’s family was from China, and she was a fairly good English speaker but sometimes had trouble coming up words for things. She often wore pink and nearly always wore her hair in two pigtails that stuck out like little tufts from the sides of her head. She was very sweet but outspoken, and apparently she had made it her job to look after Henry. John had noticed that she had recently begun following Henry around and recess and made the same choices as him at Choice Time if there was room in the area Henry had chosen. John smiled to himself. Young girls often took on mothering qualities, especially if they had younger siblings. It seemed like this is what Grace had decided to do with Henry. Thankfully John hadn’t noticed her being overbearing or babying Henry, and he hoped that they might become friends. Henry could certainly use one.

John watched them as they worked. Henry, of course, said nothing, but he seemed content to work while Grace occasionally showed him a letter that she was particularly proud of. John even spotted him pointing to one of his own letters that he had clearly worked hard on, a very proper-looking T. She smiled and complimented him, and he smiled in return. John was pleased he could give Sherlock some good news along with the bad.

***

As John dialed Sherlock’s number, he wondered if this was one of the numbers he’d end up memorizing this year. There were always one or two parents he had to call so often that he knew their numbers by heart by the end of the year. As he waited for Sherlock to pick up, he realized he was nervous, which was odd. There was nothing to be unsure of; he’d spoken to Sherlock before and found him to be pleasant after the initial coldness had worn off. John realized with some confusion that his nervousness was born of excitement. He didn’t have time to think any more on it, though, because there was an answer at the other end of the line.

“Hello, John. Has Henry had more trouble at school?” Sherlock asked expectantly.

Right to the point. Okay. “Well, I have a bit of good news and bad news this time,” John replied. “There was a little incident today where a student at Henry’s table was apparently telling Henry and another student that his family was better than theirs because he had a mom and a dad. I think I took care of it, but in light of Henry’s recent upset about not having a mother I thought I’d let you know. He was upset, but I had him move to the reading table to work, and here’s the good news part. Another student named Grace came and sat with him and they seemed to get along. I think she’s determined to be his friend,” John said with a smile, even though he was on the phone.

“I see. Good news indeed,” Sherlock replied. “He did mention playing outside with a friend, but he wouldn’t tell me any more and...” there was hesitation in his voice. “Well, to be quite honest I wasn’t sure if it was a real friend. Henry has a very active imagination and has come up with imaginary friends in the past. It’s been over a year since he’s mentioned them, but I thought perhaps he’d started up again. It’s good to know that the friend is real.”

“It’s quite normal for kids to have imaginary friends,” John assured him. “But I’m glad too. I think it’ll be good for both of them.”

“I think so as well. Was there anything else you needed to speak to me about?” he asked.

There wasn’t, but John found himself wishing there was and almost made something up just so he could keep Sherlock on the line. He frowned at himself. That certainly was not very professional of him. “Ah, no, that was all,” he said, affecting a cheerful tone. “Just wanted to keep you up to date.”

“I do appreciate it. Thank you, John. I’m sure we’ll speak soon.”

“Sure, of course. Bye,” John replied.

“Goodbye.”

***

Over dinner that night, Sherlock asked, “Did anything happen at school today?” a bit too nonchalantly. 

Henry looked up suspiciously from the mashed potato volcano he was building. “How did you know?”

Sherlock hesitated, then said, “Mr. Watson gave me a call. You’re not in trouble, though.” He didn’t want Henry to be angry with John, but Sherlock wasn’t going to lie to him either.

“Oh okay,” Henry replied, as if he had expected the answer. “Robert told me and Mazie that his family was better even though Mr. Watson said all the families are different so no one’s is better. So Mr. Watson told him he was wrong and I got to go sit at the reading table,” he said, a note of triumph in his voice. “My friend came to sit with me too,” he added, then shoved a carrot in his mouth and chomped in satisfaction. 

Sherlock nodded. “And what’s your friend’s name?” he asked.

“She’s Grace and she’s from China,” Henry replied. “She talks a whole lot and she doesn’t care if I don’t talk. And guess what!” he said excitedly. “She was my partner for the ‘speriment yesterday and we had a success! Mr. Watson said a success is when our guess matches what we found out,” he said proudly, then shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth.

They really needed to work on his table manners, Sherlock thought tiredly. “Well that’s very exciting,” he replied. “Did you take any notes?”

“Yep! Mr. Watson gave us special papers just for notes. And I drew some pictures too, just like you!” Henry said, jumping out of his seat and running towards his backpack. He pulled out his folder and snatched a single sheet of paper from it, then ran back to the table and plopped into his seat, waving the paper at his dad. Sherlock took it and examined it. 

The worksheet began with a sentence that said “I think lemon juice/soapy water will make my penny shiny.” Henry had circled ‘lemon juice.’ Below that under the word ‘Before,’ Henry had drawn a picture of his penny in brown. Next to that under the word ‘After’ he had drawn a picture of his penny in an orange-yellow, presumably after he’d washed it with lemon juice. At the bottom, there was a question that asked, “Was I right?” Henry had written “YES!!!”

Sherlock smiled. “Very nice work. How did you know the lemon juice would work?”

Henry smiled proudly. “Cause one time when you left a bunch of money in the bathtub I played with it. It was real dirty but soap didn’t make it clean, so I guessed lemon juice.”

“Good idea. I think we’ll put this up on the fridge. Where did that money go, by the way?” Sherlock asked, knowing full well where it had gone.

“Oh, I dunno,” Henry said with an air of innocence. “Maybe down the drain,” he offered, imagining his globe bank into which he had put the coins.

“Mm, you’re probably right,” Sherlock agreed with a small smile as he got up and hung the paper on the fridge with a magnet shaped like the letter H. 

“H for Henry!” Henry declared as he picked up his plate. “Okay dinner’s all done, let’s go play!”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting. I really appreciate the feedback!

John waved goodbye to the last student leaving at the end of the day, then began to go through returned permission slips. He needed to mark down which ones he’d received as well as which parents were volunteering. It was mid-October now, and he marveled at how fast the first month or so of school had gone by. It was always like that; so much to do and not enough time to do it left him feeling like time was passing by faster than it should. 

They were going on a field trip to a farm with a pumpkin patch, where they would get to see animals, go on a hayride, and pick pumpkins. John took his classes on this field trip every year, and it was always a hit. He usually had lots of parent volunteers - more than he needed, but it was easy enough to accommodate lots of parents and John thought it was nice that they could share this experience with their kids.

He had gotten most of the way through the pile of slips when he came across Henry’s. Henry was going, and John was pleasantly surprised to see that Sherlock had checked the box next to “Yes, I am interested in being a chaperone.” Sherlock hadn’t really seemed like the type to enjoy a trip to the farm. Usually parents were too busy with their children to talk with John beyond a polite ‘hello how are you doing,’ but that didn’t stop him from hoping he’d get a chance to speak with Sherlock on the trip. He told himself they would, of course, be speaking about Henry to appease his sense of professional pride, but if he was being honest he knew he just wanted to get to know the man better. That was a little dangerous considering Sherlock’s son was John’s student and if John were to become overly friendly with Sherlock, he might be seen as favoring Henry. 

Then again, John was never one to shy away from danger.

***

John’s class had been eagerly counting down the days to their field trip, and it had finally arrived. They could not have asked for more perfect weather. The sun was out, the air was cool and crisp, the sky was a vivid blue, and there was no sign of wind or rain. John felt a little like he had stepped into a movie as they arrived at the farm, but didn’t have much time to appreciate it as he soon had his hands full of overly excited Kindergartners. 

Before he knew it, the field trip was nearly at an end and the kids were in a patch of small pumpkins, each looking for their idea of the perfect one. He smiled as he saw Grace waving Henry over excitedly to look at a pumpkin with an odd growth on its side, but he found he was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to Sherlock. He realized with a sinking feeling that perhaps Sherlock simply wasn’t interested in talking to him. Sherlock was intelligent, interesting, and unlike anyone John had ever met, and John was...well, he was a Kindergarten teacher. It was a fulfilling, respectable, and difficult career, but not everyone saw it that way. John still wasn’t sure exactly what Sherlock did for a living beyond the title, but it was probably more exciting to talk about than his own career.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a presence at his side followed quickly by a statement in a deep, sonorous voice.

“It’s a lovely day. This has been an enjoyable trip.”

John turned slightly so he could face Sherlock but still keep an eye on the kids, and he couldn’t help the small smile that curved his lips. “Yeah, we got really lucky with the weather. I’m glad you’re having a good time. To be honest, I was a little surprised to see that you had volunteered to chaperone. No offense, but you don’t really seem like the farm type,” John replied.

Sherlock smiled every so slightly. “You would be correct in your assumption. If I am to be honest as well, I wasn’t sure I would enjoy it.”

“Oh?” John asked. “Then why did you come? If you don’t mind me asking, that is,” he added hurriedly.

A surprised look crossed Sherlock’s face before it smoothed back into a cool, collected expression. “Well, Henry said you really needed volunteers. And I rather suspect he thought it’d be funny to see his dad walking amongst cows and seated on a bale of hay. He does tend to get nervous about new environments, so I imagine that played a factor as well.”

John chuckled. “I’m afraid he’s put one over on you. I always have more than enough parent volunteers for this trip. I just told the kids that if their moms or dads wanted to volunteer, they’d be welcome to.”

Sherlock laughed. “It seems he has. Well, I suppose I should thank him. I have had a nice time.”

“I’m glad. I think it’s nice for parents to get a chance to interact with their kids while the kids are still together as a class. It gives the parents the opportunity to see what their child is like outside of home,” John replied.

Nodding, Sherlock said, “Indeed. It has been...enlightening to observe how Henry interacts with his classmates. I do wish he would speak at school, but he does seem happy and I am grateful for that,” he admitted.

“It’s still early on in the year. There’s plenty of time for him to start speaking,” John reassured him. “He’s doing very well; he’s an incredibly bright boy. I enjoy having him in my class,” John said sincerely.

“I...thank you,” Sherlock said. “His preschool teachers found him frustrating, so I must admit I didn’t hold a lot of hope for this year. I’m, ah, glad he was placed in a classroom with an understanding teacher such as yourself,” Sherlock said as he kept his gaze trained on Henry out in the pumpkin patch.

John was mortified to find that he was blushing slightly at the compliment. He was a grown man, for God’s sake! “Thank you. I just do what I can, and thankfully it works out most of the time,” he said, brushing the praise aside. Changing the subject, he said, “Henry likes science a lot. You mentioned you did experiments at home. Do you two work on them together?”

Sherlock nodded. “If it’s safe enough, I allow Henry to assist me. He’s very good at it,” he added with a note of pride in his voice.

“I noticed. He seems to have a good grasp on the process when we do little experiments in class. He even managed to help the other kids at his table. He didn’t talk, of course, but he arranged their materials in the order they were supposed to use them,” John replied, pleased that he could inform Sherlock with good news.

“He likes you a lot, you know,” Sherlock said quietly. “It seems you’ve impressed him.”

John wondered briefly if by ‘him’ Sherlock had meant ‘us,’ but he quickly dismissed the thought. Wishful and slightly inappropriate thinking. “Well, that’s always great to hear,” he replied.

“He talks about you all the time. I’m not sure how I feel about so much of his attention going to someone else.”

John was about to apologize when he realized Sherlock was smiling.

“I am joking, of course,” Sherlock chuckled. “I’m glad he has you to look up to. I’m afraid I don’t always fit that particular bill.”

“Well, none of us are perfect,” John laughed. 

Without warning, Sherlock asked, “Would you like to come over for dinner on Saturday?” 

“Oh,” John said in surprise. “I, ah-”

“It’s just that Henry was asking,” Sherlock interrupted, suddenly unsure of himself. “I don’t know whether it’s unconventional or not, but -”

“Yes,” John replied, interrupting in turn before he had time to actually think about possible ramifications. “I’d love to.”

For a moment Sherlock appeared relieved, but he quickly composed himself. “Yes, all right. Henry will be thrilled.”

Before John could respond, Henry came running over carrying a small but perfectly round pumpkin. He grinned and held it out to Sherlock for inspection, who accepted it and looked it over.

“It seems you’ve made an excellent choice. Shall we carve it when we get home?” Sherlock asked with a smile.

Henry beamed and nodded, then took his pumpkin back and dashed off to help Grace pick out hers.

John chuckled. “Sounds like fun. Well, looks like it’s about time to round everybody up and get them back to school. I’ll see you Saturday?” John asked, a hint of hesitation in his voice, unsure if perhaps Sherlock had changed his mind.

“Yes, of course. We look forward to it,” Sherlock replied. John flashed him a smile and then headed toward the class, blowing his whistle for them to line up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Art for this chapter](http://secretmanlove.tumblr.com/post/55484349375/a-lil-parentlock-doodle-inspired-by-learning) by [Stitchy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tallenough/profile)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be the 'John comes to dinner' chapter but things got away from me, so that'll be in the next chapter!

As it turned out, Sherlock and Henry were unable to carve the pumpkin that night or the following, as Sherlock had been called in on a case. Henry accepted the delay without a fuss, having grown used to that sort of thing over his few years. In fact, Sherlock sometimes wondered if he should be worried that his son didn’t throw more fits like the majority of kids his age, but then again it would probably be best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Five year olds tended to be very self-centered, which is not to say that they are always selfish. They simply haven’t figured out yet that the world doesn’t revolve entirely around them and their wants and needs. Henry seemed to be the exception to the rule, knowing that sometimes on short notice his dad had to things other than the activities they had planned. True, he had initially thrown fits, but when he learned they got him nowhere except perhaps timeouts in his room, he’d stopped.

Sherlock finished his email to Lestrade, the Lieutenant who called him in on cases, and closed his laptop with a feeling of relief. It was two a.m. Saturday morning, and he had been worried he would have to cancel dinner with John in order to work on the case. It had been mind-numbingly easy, and for once Sherlock was thankful. Ordinarily he abhorred boring, simple cases, but Henry would have been heartbroken if they had to cancel dinner with his teacher. He had talked nonstop about it ever since Sherlock told him John had accepted their offer and already had the meal planned out (after Sherlock had vetoed pizza, which was Henry’s favorite food in the world). They would be having lasagna, and due to much pleading by Henry, blueberry pie for dessert. 

Turning off his light, Sherlock decided to get a few hours’ sleep, knowing Henry would be up at the crack of dawn ready to carve his pumpkin and go shopping for dinner.

***

“Daddy!” Sherlock was jolted awake by a rambunctious bounce on his bed. “Daddy it’s time to carve my punkin and go shopping for the ‘gredients for dinner!” Henry said as he bounced from one side of Sherlock’s prone form to the other. 

Sherlock glanced over at his clock. The cool blue numbers read 6:07 a.m. As expected, Henry hadn’t wasted any time. He grabbed Henry around the waist and pulled him down next to him while Henry erupted in a fit of giggles. “How about some breakfast first?” he asked. “And what about your cartoons?”

Henry’s eyes widened. He had nearly forgotten that Saturday was more than ‘Mr.-Watson-Comes-to-Dinner-Day.’ Squirming out of Sherlock’s grasp, he ran out to the living room and Sherlock soon heard the chatter of the TV. It sounded like Looney Toons, which Sherlock had been surprised to find was still being aired. Apparently classics really did never die. Stretching, he got slowly out of bed. Henry would be occupied with that long enough for Sherlock to take a shower before making breakfast.

As he stepped under the hot spray, he mapped out his plan for the day as he usually did and found he was nervous. It frustrated him because there was no good reason for it. He was a confident person, and having Henry’s teacher over for dinner shouldn’t worry him. John had seemed happy to accept the offer, so it wasn’t as if they were forcing him. Sherlock was a good cook, so no worries there either. John was easy to converse with. Sherlock was a grown man; he should not be nervous about this dinner.

Maybe that was the problem, he thought as he lathered shampoo in his hair. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t find John attractive. His eyes were especially intriguing; Sherlock hadn’t encountered that shade of ocean-blue before. John had a kind smile, and Sherlock suspected he was rather fit under the baggy clothing he seemed to prefer. As he rinsed his hair, he wondered what John might look like in a well-fitting suit. Or a t-shirt. Or maybe shirtless. Heat began to pool in his lower abdomen, and with a slight start of horror Sherlock realized what he was doing and turned the water to cold, then off. It was entirely inappropriate for him to be fantasizing about his son’s teacher. Especially in the shower. He was unused to being attracted to anyone, and it was thoroughly distracting. Sherlock sighed as he toweled himself dry. He had to figure out a way to reign it in before tonight.

***

After breakfast, Sherlock and Henry were seated at the newspaper-covered table with the pumpkin in front of them. Sherlock had cut it open, and Henry was now gleefully scooping out its innards with his hands. He had absolutely no aversion to touching the slimy, stringy goop and Sherlock was oddly proud of it. 

Henry brought one of his hands to his nose and sniffed it, wrinkling his nose. “Doesn’t smell good. Can we eat it?”

Sherlock chuckled. “Not that part, but the shell can be cooked to make pumpkin pie and other sorts of pumpkin things. The seeds can also be baked in the oven.”

“Can we do that?” he asked excitedly, already sifting through the goop to pick out the seeds. 

“Sure,” Sherlock replied, helping him separate the seeds. 

“We can give some to Mr. Watson when he comes over!” 

“I suppose we could. We’ll put them out in a little bowl, how about that?” Sherlock answered, feeling a twinge of excitement when John’s name was mentioned. He suppressed it immediately. These feelings were not something he could allow.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” Henry asked, looking concerned.

Sherlock realized he must have been making a serious face and smiled. “Nothing. Just trying to remember what temperature the oven needs to be.”

“Oh okay. I’m excited for Mr. Watson to come over. Aren’t you?” Henry asked, having reverted back to scooping out the pumpkin’s guts, leaving Sherlock the more tedious task of picking out the seeds.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock replied, knowing that it was all too true.

***

Hours later after the pumpkin had been carved and Henry had taken a reluctant bath thanks to getting pumpkin innards all over himself, they were on their way to the grocery store. Henry was nearly vibrating with excitement as he felt he was in charge of the whole thing and therefore feeling rather grown up. Sherlock was making nearly everything from scratch, which meant they were a long time in the produce section. 

“Henry, would you go pick out six tomatoes for me?” Sherlock asked as he looked over the herb selection. “Make sure they’re good ones,” he added, though it probably wasn’t necessary. Henry had an uncanny ability for picking out ripe produce.

Henry nodded and took his bag over to the large display of tomatoes. While he was looking them over, he stepped back to get a better overall view and bumped into a woman behind him. The movement caused her to drop the bag of apples she was carrying, and they spilled and rolled across the floor. She rounded on Henry with a glare.

“Look what you’ve done!” she exclaimed, motioning to the apples. “They’re bound to be bruised now, and the store will probably make me pay for them!” 

Henry’s eyes widened and he stepped back. He knew he should apologize, he _wanted_ to apologize, but the words wouldn’t come. They never did. His throat felt tight as the woman continued to berate him.

“You should apologize, young man,” she insisted. “Look at the trouble you’ve caused!” She stared expectantly at him. When he didn’t reply, she prompted, “Well? I’m waiting!”

Tears stung Henry’s eyes, then rolled onto his cheeks. He wished the tomato stand would open up and swallow him so he could hide away from the angry, terrifying woman. His lips were pressed in a firm line, as if they were making extra sure he wouldn’t be able to say anything.

“Oh for god’s sake, you don’t need to cry about it,” she said in an exasperated tone. “Just apologize!”

At that moment Sherlock came storming up, and Henry ran to bury his face in his dad’s coat. Sherlock’s expression was dark. “What kind of person yells at a child to apologize for what was clearly an accident?” he hissed. “And one that was most likely your fault, since you can’t seem to tear yourself away from your phone for two seconds. What is it, texting a lover?” he sneered. “Oh, you’re husband’s found out, hasn’t he? You’re trying to salvage the marriage. Don’t bother,” he said savagely.

The woman stared at him in stunned silence, then turned and hurried away, leaving the apples forgotten on the floor. Sherlock glared daggers at her back, then knelt down next to Henry. He tried not to make deductions like that around his son, but he had been so angry he couldn’t stop himself. “Henry, are you okay?” he asked gently, wrapping his arms around him.

Henry nodded and sniffed in reply.

“Do you still want to finish the shopping, or should we go home?” 

Henry wiped his face on his sleeve and took a deep breath. “Finish,” he replied softly, so quiet Sherlock could barely hear. 

“Okay. I’m sorry I left you alone,” Sherlock said, guilt written all over his face.

Henry wrapped his arms around his dad’s neck and hugged him in reply, then picked up his bag and began filling it with plump, red tomatoes. Sherlock watched him, worried. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. When it did, Henry usually spent the rest of the day in sad silence, sometimes shutting himself in his room. 

Sherlock could only hope that the prospect of John coming to dinner would ward it off.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay everyone! I'm currently busy with two jobs, side projects, and moving so it makes it a little difficult to find good writing time. However, this chapter is about 1000 words longer than the longest chapter up until this point so I hope that makes up for it! 
> 
> You can follow me on tumblr for progress updates if you like; my username is allfinehere there as well. 
> 
> Also, [Stitchy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/tallenough/profile) made [art for this fic](http://secretmanlove.tumblr.com/post/55484349375/a-lil-parentlock-doodle-inspired-by-learning)! It's so adorable and I'm still freaking out about it!

John stood in front of his dresser dressed only in a towel, debating what to wear to dinner. He didn’t want to come across as too casual, but he didn’t want to be overdressed either. Pulling out a shirt, he inspected it, then sighed and put it back in the drawer. Too plain. He grabbed a burgundy sweater and pulled it on, then took it off five seconds later. Too uncomfortable. He was beginning to feel like Goldilocks when he spotted a shirt with thick black and white stripes. It was one of his favorites, and as he put it on it felt like the right choice. It was perhaps a little on the ‘too plain’ side, but John decided being slightly underdressed would be better than being overdressed. He didn’t want to look like he was trying to hard. There might not even be anything to try for. And he still had the lingering uneasy feeling that this was not something he should be doing.

Shaking his head, he quickly pulled on boxers, dark jeans, and socks and went to the bathroom to fix his hair. Normally he wouldn’t fuss about it too much but...well, all reservations aside, he wanted to make a good impression. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he was gripped by a slight panic when he realized he hadn’t gotten anything to bring to dinner. Should he have? The customary gift was a bottle of wine, but that wasn’t appropriate for dinner with a child and might send the wrong signals. Not to mention he didn’t know what they were having, so he wouldn’t know whether to get red or white. No, he decided, he didn’t have to bring anything. This was just a casual dinner with a student and his father. It would be fine.

Before he had the chance to worry himself out of going, John grabbed his jacket and headed out the door. It wasn’t long before he stood outside a small but nice-looking building, a shiny gold ‘221’ on the door notifying him that he had arrived at the correct address. He knocked on the door with three sharp raps of his knuckles, wondering who would answer since the slip of paper Sherlock had sent in Henry’s folder said 221B. Hearing footsteps on the other side of the door, John’s stomach twisted in an anxious knot. When a spry-looking elderly woman answered the door, he relaxed. 

“Um, hello. I’m looking for apartment 221B,” John began.

“Oh, you must be John! Come in, come in, the boys are waiting,” the woman replied with a smile. “I’m Mrs. Hudson, I’m the landlady of this building.”

“Ah, nice to meet you,” John replied, stepping into the building and following her up the stairs. “Do you live here as well?”

“I live in 221A,” she replied. “There’s a third unit, 221C, but it needs renovation and I just haven’t gotten around to it. Sherlock and Henry are lovely tenants,” she chattered on, making her way slowly up the stairs. “It’s so nice to see Sherlock having a date over,” she cooed. 

“Oh, um, I’m not his date. It’s not a date” John corrected, red-faced. “I’m Henry’s teacher.”

“Of course, right you are,” Mrs. Hudson said with a wink. John had no chance to reply because she shouted up the stairs, “Yoo-hoo boys, you’ve got a visitor!”

When they reached the top of the stairs, John spotted Henry standing in the open doorway with a smile on his face before he darted back into the apartment. Soon he returned with the tall figure of Sherlock at his side, who was wearing an apron that looked like it might have been a present from Henry at some point. It was black (practical for hiding stains, John thought) with a large yellow smiley face painted on the chest area. 

“John,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Please, come in. Dinner’s just about ready,” he said as he stepped aside so John could enter the apartment. “Thank you Mrs. Hudson. Perhaps you’ll come up for dessert later?”

“Thank you dear, but I wouldn’t want to interrupt,” she said with another wink, this one aimed at Sherlock. “Have fun, boys!” she added as she headed back downstairs. 

Sherlock’s cheeks were tinged pink, but that was the only sign that the wink had flustered him. Shutting the door behind John, he motioned for John to follow him to the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can help with?” John asked as he shrugged out of his jacket and set it on a stool. “Smells delicious, whatever it is.”

“Lasagna,” Sherlock replied. “Henry picked it out. I hope that’s all right?” he asked.

“Oh, more than. I love it,” John replied with a reassuring smile. 

Glancing around the kitchen to make sure it was empty but for the two of them, Sherlock stepped closer to John and said in a low voice, “We had a bit of an incident at the grocery store today. A woman shouted at Henry for not speaking to her. This isn’t the first time something like that’s happened, and when it has Henry has generally kept to himself in his room for the remainder of the day. He seems to be doing a bit better this time, thanks to your visit I think. But if he seems distant, that’s why,” Sherlock said, worry creasing his brow.

John’s expression mimicked Sherlock’s. “God, that’s awful. I’m so sorry that happened. That’s just inexcusable,” he said, feeling angry on Henry’s behalf

“I...might have yelled at her a little,” Sherlock said, ducking his head in embarrassment. 

John chuckled. “I would have too.”

Just then, Henry entered the kitchen carefully holding a paper near his chest with the blank side facing out, as if to hide what was on the other side. He stood near his dad, but his eyes were on John.

“Hello, Henry,” John said with a warm smile. “What do you have there?”

Henry smiled shyly and handed John the paper. It was a drawing of two people (John assumed they were Henry and himself) standing side-by-side outdoors. There was a sun and some birds in the sky, and a carefully drawn rabbit at their feet. Everything in the picture save the sun was smiling, and Henry was holding a black stick with a circle attached to the end - a magnifying glass, perhaps.

“This is great, Henry! I love all your details. I’ll hang it up on my fridge when I go home. Thank you!” John responded.

Henry beamed with pride, and all shyness forgotten came to stand at John’s side. He pointed to the rabbit, then tapped John’s hands. John glanced quickly at Sherlock to see if he’d get any explanation, but Sherlock was simply watching so he looked back at Henry. Holding his hands out, he asked, “Is this a rabbit you know, or is it a rabbit you made up just for the picture?”

Henry tapped John’s right hand, signifying that it was a rabbit he knew. He seemed pleased but expectant, so John continued. “Is he your rabbit or someone else’s?”

Again, Henry tapped John’s right hand for the first answer option. John hadn’t noticed a cage or any sign of a rabbit in the house, so after a bit of quick thinking he asked, “Is it a real rabbit or an imaginary one?”

Henry tapped John’s left hand and shot his dad a look, at which point Sherlock interrupted the ‘conversation.’ “I won’t let him have a real pet yet, so he’s made up a pretend one. He calls it Bluebell because I’ve been reading a book called Watership Down to him and that’s the name of one of the characters,” Sherlock explained.

“Oh, I know that book. Haven’t read it in years, though. My mom used to read it to me when I was a kid,” John replied. “I always liked that one character with the extra fur on his head the best.”

Henry perked up, looking like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. “Bigwig,” Sherlock supplied.

“Right, yeah,” John said as the faded memories came back to him. “And, uh, that seagull. Kehaar?” he ventured a guess.

Henry grinned and nodded. Thankfully the oven timer beeped and John was saved from trying discuss the book further. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to, but he was rather rusty on the subject and didn’t know how much more he could really contribute to the conversation.

“Henry, will you set the table?” Sherlock asked as he removed the bread from the oven. Henry nodded and began working, setting each item on the table with the utmost care and precision, as though he wanted everything to be perfect. Which, John suspected, he probably did. 

Soon they were all seated around the small square table eating dinner with Sherlock in the middle and Henry and John facing each other. “This is amazing,” John commented. “You made it all yourself?”

“Yes, thank you,” Sherlock replied, feeling a warm glow settle in his chest.

“Where did you learn to cook like this?” John asked after taking a sip of his wine. Apparently it would have been fine to bring wine. John would have to bring a bottle next time. If there was a next time. Should there be a next time? John put the thought from his mind for now, intent on enjoying the moment.

Sherlock shrugged. “Cooking is simply science; it wasn’t difficult to understand the process.”

“It’s got to be more than that,” John laughed. “I can follow directions, but usually things I make never turn out quite right. I’m convinced it’s some sort of natural talent.” 

A wide grin spread across Henry’s face, and John looked at him questioningly. Sherlock sighed and said, “He probably wants me to tell you about the time I exploded a cake in the oven.” Henry nodded emphatically.

“All right, then. I suppose you get to be one of three people who know about my culinary failures,” Sherlock said. It was a joke, but John couldn’t help feeling special somehow. Maybe it was time to lay off the wine.

“I’m still not sure what happened, actually. I must have substituted one ingredient for another. It was a complex recipe, and any deviation seems to have rather...messy consequences,” Sherlock explained, somewhat embarrassed.

“Well, it happens to the best of us,” John replied, wanting to ease Sherlock’s discomfort.

“Indeed. What Henry neglected to mention as he gleefully told Mrs. Hudson and my brother about the failure was that I tried again and the cake came out just fine,” Sherlock stated.

“Well of course he didn’t tell that part. That’s not the funny part, right?” John asked, to which Henry smiled and nodded.

“Hm. I think I’d better watch out so you two don’t team up on me,” Sherlock said mock-seriously, and John laughed.

At the beginning of his visit, John had felt tense and a little awkward. As the meal progressed, though, conversation came naturally and he relaxed. John spent so much time at school that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to simply talk with another adult about something other than assessments or how to make a science unit less boring. He found Sherlock to be engaging and exciting to listen to, especially when he talked about his cases. It was obvious he had a passion for what he did. It was obvious, too, that Henry was the center of his world, which John thought was very sweet and as it should be.

When they moved on to dessert, John was secretly very excited. Blueberry pie was his favorite kind of pie, but he couldn’t make it to save his life. “This is amazing. It’s perfect, actually. You are some sort of cooking genius,” John declared.

At this, Henry sat up straight and held out his hands, which had recently been stained blue. “I think Henry would like you to know that he helped out with the pie,” Sherlock said. 

“Well that must be why it’s so delicious, then. Excellent job, Henry!” John congratulated him. Henry took a moment to smile proudly, then continued shoveling pie and ice cream into his mouth. 

“What do you do in your free time?” Sherlock asked, continuing their pre-pie conversation. “Any hobbies?”

John gave a short laugh. “Well, to be honest I spend most of my time doing work-related stuff. I run the Lego club at school, if you could call that a hobby. Henry’s welcome to join it, by the way,” he added. “He likes to play with the Legos during choice time, so I thought he might be interested.”

“Would you like to join, Henry?” Sherlock asked, and Henry nodded eagerly in reply.

“Great,” John smiled. “We meet after school in my room on Tuesdays. As for other hobbies, I like to read so I like going to bookstores. I like to go for walks. God,” he laughed, shaking his head. “I sound like an elderly retired person. I don’t really have much of a social life since...since I came back from the war,” he said, accidentally breaching a topic he hadn’t meant to bring up at all. “And making friends outside of work at my age isn’t exactly easy,” he said with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “But, like I said, work keeps me busy enough that I wouldn’t have much time to socialize anyway.” 

Sherlock gave him a calculating look, but merely nodded and hummed in agreement.

After they finished dessert, John offered to help clean up and was grateful when Sherlock accepted. John hated sitting around while things were done for him. They stood side-by-side at the sink, John washing and Sherlock drying. Each time their hands or arms accidentally brushed, John felt a small thrill of excitement that made him feel a bit like a teenager, and he wondered if Sherlock felt it, too. 

Henry had disappeared while they were washing up, and Sherlock worried that perhaps the incident at the store had been too much and he’d retreated to his room. With impeccable timing, Henry reappeared just as there were no more chores to be done holding _Watership Down_. Handing it to John, Henry looked at him questioningly. 

“I could probably read for a little bit, if that’s all right?” John asked, looking at Sherlock. 

“Of course. It would be nice to hear someone reading it besides myself for a change,” Sherlock replied.

“Oh, I’m sure your reading is much better than mine. You have a lovely voice,” John said without thinking. He felt his cheeks heat up when he realized he’d given Sherlock what could be taken as a rather personal compliment.

“Ah. Thank you,” Sherlock replied, surprised and pleased. “It will be nice to have a break, then,” he amended.

John smiled in relief and sat down next to Henry, who was waiting impatiently on the couch. He ended up reading an entire chapter before Henry was satisfied, though he didn’t mind because he found he didn’t want to go. Suddenly the thought of his empty apartment seemed lonely and unappealing, but he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. 

All three of them went to the door as John put on his jacket and got ready to leave. “Thank you for having me over,” John said. “I had a really great time.” He hesitated, then said, “It was nice getting to know you better, Sherlock. You’ll have to tell me more about your cases sometime. I mean, if you want to,” he added quickly. Then, before he could become embarrassed, he said to Henry, “And thank you for the awesome picture. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Sherlock replied as Henry waved goodbye. “Goodnight, John.”

John headed out the door and down the stairs, and it wasn’t long before they heard the sound of the front door closing. Feeling a tug on his pants, Sherlock looked down at his son, suddenly worried. Henry wore a very serious expression. Perhaps the evening hadn’t gone as well as Sherlock had thought. “What is it?” he asked.

“Daddy,” Henry said in a scandalized tone, “you can’t call him _John_.”

Sherlock laughed and herded Henry back into their home, then shut the door.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will be on Mondays from here on out, barring any unforeseen circumstances. And as always, thank you for your comments and suggestions!

The sound of footsteps on the stairs accompanied by a distinct tap on each stair resulted in two very different reactions inside 221B. Sherlock was in the middle of an experiment testing the effects of different brands of bleach on various items, which meant Henry was, too. The boy was wearing a stained white lab coat with the sleeves rolled up since it was a bit big for him. He also had on rubber gloves and clear plastic goggles, and he wore them all proudly, feeling every inch the scientist. Their current experiment wasn’t really dangerous enough to require such extreme safety measures, but Sherlock insisted upon Henry’s safety gear and Henry liked it anyway. 

When the pair heard the tell-tale noise on the stairs, Sherlock sighed and continued the experiment. Henry, however, lit up, pulled off his gloves, and made a dash for the door. He opened it just as their visitor arrived. 

“Uncle Mycroft!” he exclaimed gleefully, throwing his arms around his uncle’s waist. Panic flashed across Mycroft’s features as he wondered what sort of chemicals were on Henry’s lab coat and what they might do to his suit, but before he could worry overly much about it Henry had detached and grabbed him by the hand. No harm had been done. Mycroft had been visiting Henry for five years now, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to the spontaneity and overexcitement of children. 

“Come look at our ‘speriment,” Henry insisted, dragging him along to the kitchen. “We’re looking at bleach on stuff. Daddy has to find out what kind of bleach the bad guy used so he can catch him!”

“So Lieutenant Lestrade can catch him,” Sherlock corrected as he compared two small pieces of denim with similar-looking bleach stains. 

Henry appeared a bit put out that anyone, even his own father, would dare suggest that his dad wasn’t the one out catching bad guys. “Yeah, but you help. You figure the tricky stuff out. Isn’t this cool Uncle Mycroft?”

Mycroft, of course, had always felt that Sherlock could be doing something much more worthwhile with his intelligence, but didn’t want to upset Henry by saying so. “Yes, very cool indeed,” he said in a manner that made clear he generally did not use the word ‘cool’ unless describing the temperature. “I heard you had a visitor recently,” he said, the statement directed at Henry since he’d be more likely to get an answer out of the boy.

Sherlock snorted. Mycroft mentioned it ever so casually, as if he had heard the information in passing instead of very purposefully gathering the information via surveillance. “We simply had Henry’s -”

“Mr. Watson came over for dinner!” Henry interrupted excitedly. “And I got to pick out dinner and I even helped make it and he really liked it.”

“Mm, did he now?” Mycroft asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah!” Henry nodded enthusiastically. He scooted closer to Mycroft and said conspiratorially, “And guess what. Daddy likes him. He didn’t even make any deductions at him,” he added, eyes wide and serious.

“Well that _is_ interesting,” Mycroft replied with a smirk. 

“It’s called being polite,” Sherlock interrupted with a frown. “He’s going to be Henry’s teacher for the rest of the year, and I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot.”

“Of course, of course. And we know you always have the _utmost_ concern for manners,” Mycroft said dryly. 

“Yeah, Daddy teaches me manners,” Henry agreed, completely missing the sarcasm. Sherlock simply smirked at Mycroft while his son wasn’t looking.

Ignoring Sherlock, Mycroft said, “So tell me about Mr. Watson. Is he a good teacher?”

“Oh, yeah,” Henry replied as he mimicked his father, peering closely at the things they had bleached. “He’s real nice and lets us do ‘speriments at school, too.” He pointed to the fridge where his penny experiment paper was hanging. “That’s mine from our penny ‘speriment. I had a success!” he made sure to point out proudly. “And when Mr. Watson came to dinner he was still real nice even though we weren’t even at school. And guess what else,” he added, not pausing long enough for Mycroft to actually guess. “He actually listened to all Daddy’s stories _and_ he said he wanted to hear more!” Henry divulged, certain that this was a very interesting fact.

Mycroft agreed. “Well, that is certainly good to hear,” he said, shooting a glance at Sherlock, whose smile vanished from his face when he realized Mycroft was watching.

“And he readed me Watership Down!” Henry exclaimed, having saved what was in his mind the most important detail of all for last. “Uncle Mycroft can I have a bunny for Christmas?” he pleaded. It was rare that Henry didn’t ask for a bunny when Mycroft visited. After all, Mycroft often did bring him little presents on visits, and got him especially nice presents at Christmas. It stood to reason that if his father wouldn’t get him a bunny, Uncle Mycroft might.

Mycroft gave him the same answer as always. “That’s up to your father, Henry. I’ll read to you if you like. Why don’t you go get your book?”

Never one to pass up the opportunity to have someone read to him, Henry was off to his room like a shot, leaving the adults to converse privately. 

“Will the day ever arrive when you mind your own business?” Sherlock asked testily as he carefully poured bleach into a test tube.

“I’m merely looking after you, dearest brother. Mummy wouldn’t like to find out that you’re all on your own, not to mention on your own with a child, now would she?”

Sherlock scowled. That bit of blackmail was getting old, but it remained effective. Sherlock had little desire to associate with his mother, and if she knew his situation a visit and a proper scolding as well as intense meddling would be imminent. And that was unacceptable.

“There’s nothing wrong with being interested in someone,” Mycroft said, his voice gentler than before. For most of his adult life, Mycroft had stood by his beliefs that sentiment was a weakness. Since Henry’s arrival he’d had to amend those beliefs as he saw how caring for Henry had made Sherlock a better person. 

“I know there’s not,” Sherlock snapped. “But he’s Henry's teacher. It would most likely be inappropriate.”

A knowing smile spread across Mycroft’s face, and Sherlock rolled his eyes when he realized what he’d given away. “But you enjoyed his company?”

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted begrudgingly. “He’s...puzzling.”

“Mm,” Mycroft hummed noncommittally.

Henry arrived back in the kitchen, waving his book in the air triumphantly. “Found it!” 

Mycroft allowed himself to be led to the sitting room, where he sat next to Henry (still in full experiment gear, just in case) and began to read. After a page or two, Henry insisted, “You have to do the voices!” So Mycroft made an attempt at varying his voice for different characters, which made Sherlock grin at the notes he was taking. 

They hadn’t gotten very far when heavy footsteps sounded in the stairwell. “Hey Sherlock, have you gotten anywhere with the -” He stopped in surprise when he realized he wasn’t the only visitor. “Sorry, didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

“Not a problem,” Sherlock replied smoothly. “Mycroft was just reading to Henry.”

“The American government, doing his part by reading to the kids, eh?” Lestrade joked, a warm smile on his face.

Mycroft returned the smile, tight-lipped though it was. “I actually need to be going,” he said as he stood. “We’ll read more next time, Henry,” he added.

“He might be finished by ‘next time,’” Greg interjected with a laugh. “That kid devours books.”

“That he does. Perhaps I’ll bring him a new one.”

At this, Henry perked up. “Even though it’s not Christmas?”

“If you continue to do well in school, we’ll see,” Mycroft smiled. 

“Can you bring me one about how to take care of bunnies so daddy will let me have one?” Henry asked hopefully.

Mycroft’s smile grew wider as the corners of Sherlock’s mouth turned down. “I would be delighted to. But for now I must be off,” he said, gathering up his umbrella.

“It was nice seeing you,” Lestrade said, a little too quickly.

Mycroft paused, then nodded. “And you as well. Good day, Lieutenant.” 

When Mycroft had left the building, Lestrade turned to Sherlock. “Why won’t he just call me Greg? Or Lestrade, even? I’ve known him for years for God’s sake,” he said, a slight edge of frustration to his voice.

“It’s a way of distancing himself from people,” Sherlock murmured absently as he jotted down a few more notes. “If he fears he might become attached, he’ll revert to titles rather than names. Of course, he refers to most everyone by title because it makes him sound important. However, as you said, he has known you for years. I’ll leave you to your deductions on that.”

Greg’s face was an amusing mixture of hope and disappointment. “Erm. Right, then. So about the thief, have you found anything out?”

“‘Course he found anything out,” Henry snorted. “You can go arrest the bad guy now. Tell him the bad guy, Daddy,” Henry prompted. This was his favorite part.

“The stains on the gloves at the crime scene match a brand of bleach sold only at the store where Hector Ramirez works. I imagine you’ll find the missing money at his flat,” Sherlock replied, then smiled at Henry who was grinning proudly, as if he was the one who had done all the work.

Lestrade nodded. “Right, thanks. I’ll text you if we need anything more.”

“You shouldn’t. It’ll be fairly open-and-shut from here on out. He seemed like the nervous type; I doubt you’ll have trouble getting a confession,” Sherlock said as he began to clean up the experiment. “It’s a wonder he ever got this far.”

“Yep, open-and-shut,” Henry parroted with his arms crossed over his chest, thinking it made him appear very official and grown-up.

“Thanks, Henry,” Lestrade grinned. “I’ll see you boys later!”

After he left, Henry began to shed his experiment equipment. “Good thing you’re so smart, Daddy,” he said. “Otherwise Mr. Lestrade wouldn’t catch _anybody_.”

“Good thing I have a smart helper,” Sherlock replied, mussing Henry’s chestnut brown curls. “And Mr. Lestrade is smart as well; he catches many criminals on his own. He only comes to me for the very difficult cases,” he corrected.

“Yeah, well, good thing we’re all smart, then,” Henry amended.

“Yes, good thing,” Sherlock agreed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thanks for picking up on the mistakes I made last chapter and letting me know. If I did any more dumb things this chapter, please tell me! And as always, if you have any suggestions I'd love to hear them!

The dinner with Sherlock and Henry left John in a good mood for the entire following week, though he still wasn’t entirely without reservations. There was no denying now that he was attracted to Sherlock, but he still wondered about the moral implications of it. John knew he wasn’t favoring Henry above the other kids, but other parents and staff might not see it that way. It was a frustrating situation.

When he realized he’d been staring blankly at the unfinished lesson plan on his computer screen for the past ten minutes, he decided to get up and go for a walk. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head and then he could get his work finished. He occasionally envied people with nine-to-five jobs who could leave their work at work, but he loved what he did so the extra effort was always worth it. 

He buttoned up his coat and after a moment’s hesitation grabbed his scarf as well. It was getting colder, a sign that winter was definitely on its way. John had never minded the winter until he went to war. Now that he was back, winter seemed colder and longer than he had remembered, which was why he had a large supply of bulky sweaters to keep warm. Sometimes other staff teased him good-naturedly about them, but he never minded. 

It wasn’t yet Halloween, but plenty of shops were decorated for the holiday. John loved Halloween at school; it was a very busy day, but it was fun to see the excited students in their costumes. Last year there had been five Iron Mans in his class, and he was curious what the popular costume this year would be. John did make an effort to keep up with what was popular with the kids since they always wanted to talk about it, but sometimes things slipped by him. It seemed like Iron Man’s popularity hadn’t waned in the least, so he expected he’d have at least a few of them, and undoubtedly several Disney princess as well. 

Before he realized it, John was at the park. He didn’t recall ever making the decision to go there, but since it was generally where he headed when he went on walks, he wasn’t too surprised. Meandering over to a bench near the fountain, John sat down and absently observed the other people in the park. There weren’t too many there thanks to the chilly weather, so it was fairly peaceful. 

John caught himself daydreaming about what it might be like to go on a date with Sherlock; to go to dinner, maybe walk in the park, and huddle close because of the weather. John shook his head and sighed. It clearly had been far too long since he’d been on a date if he was fantasizing about it like a school boy, and Sherlock probably wasn’t even interested in him. This was just a crush, he told himself, and he needed to move on.

Someone sat on the bench next to him and John looked over, a little annoyed. There was an entire fountain square full of empty benches, and the stranger had chosen to sit at his. He was well-dressed, wearing a fine wool coat and shiny black shoes. He appeared to be a little older than John and had an overall polished appearance. John thought he looked like a man who knew how to get what he wanted. John’s posture changed; he sat up a little straighter and held himself a little more tensely. 

“Hello,” he said easily. “Nice evening tonight.”

“It is, John, but I’m not here for the weather,” the stranger replied with a slight smirk.

John’s eyes widened in surprise for just a moment before narrowing in suspicion. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said in a cool tone.

“You are correct, though you have met someone I know rather well,” the man said smoothly.

“Oh, of course. So what is it? Do we have the same barber? Same mailman?” John replied sarcastically, not appreciating the man’s secretive behavior.

The man frowned, making the wrinkles on his forehead pronounced. It seemed like that was an expression he made often. “I believe you know Sherlock Holmes? And his son, Henry?”

“I might. And since you already seem to know way too much about me, I’d like a name in return if you don’t mind,” John said, wearing a matching frown.

“Mycroft. Mycroft Holmes,” came the reply.

“So...Sherlock’s brother, then?” John asked.

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, though I’m sure if he could choose a title for me it might be more along the lines of ‘enemy.’ He is fairly dramatic about our relationship.”

“Yeah, he mentioned you once. You’re one of the people Henry speaks to, right?” John asked, though at the moment he wasn’t quite sure why anyone would voluntarily chat with this man.

“Mm,” Mycroft agreed. 

“But you aren’t here to talk about Henry, are you?” John ventured.

“For the most part, no. What is the nature of your relationship with Sherlock?” Mycroft asked without any preamble. 

Caught off guard, John’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. He hoped it could be attributed to the cold, but when he saw the small smirk return to Mycroft’s face, his hopes were dashed. 

“I don’t think that’s any of your business,” John replied, having had just about enough of Mycroft’s invasive behavior. 

“Oh, but I think it is,” Mycroft replied in an annoyingly patient tone. “He is my brother, and therefore my business.”

“He is a grown man,” John retorted, almost feeling annoyed on Sherlock’s behalf. He’d known of overbearing fathers and mothers, but he’d never heard of an overprotective brother. “I’m pretty sure he can take care of himself.”

Mycroft merely stared at him, as if he had all the time in the world to wait on John’s reply.

John sighed. “Our relationship has been friendly but professional. I went to dinner at his apartment at Henry’s request. That’s all.”

Mycroft arched an elegant eyebrow. “Is it, though?”

Feeling his cheeks grow warmer, John frowned. “Yes. Anything else would be inappropriate.”

To his surprise, Mycroft chuckled. “It seems that you and my brother have similar notions. Unnecessary, though.”

“He - what?” John asked; not his most intelligent response.

Mycroft provided no clarification as he stood gracefully, poised with his umbrella at his side. “I’m sure we’ll speak again soon, Mr. Watson,” he said. “Goodnight.”

John watched him walk away, trying to process the thoroughly weird meeting that had just occurred. He never did find out how Mycroft knew about him; he thought it unlikely that Sherlock had told him. The part he most wanted clarification on, though, was that he and Sherlock had ‘similar notions.’ Did that mean Sherlock had no interest in him and found the idea of dating his son’s teacher reprehensible? Or was he interested in John, but like John, wasn’t sure if it was appropriate?

He sat on the bench a while longer, lost in thought. When his toes began to feel icy, he stood up and headed back home, hands in his pockets and head bent against the brisk wind that had picked up, tossing brightly colored leaves around in its wake.

***

The next day at school was fairly uneventful, which was good because John was still distracted by his odd meeting with Mycroft the previous night. He considered asking Sherlock about it, but decided it might be weird to call him and say, “Hey, your brother tracked me down in a park and knew all about me, then asked about our relationship. What’s that all about?”

It was raining, so in lieu of going outside John’s class was having indoor recess. John loathed indoor recess because it always ended up being barely controlled chaos no matter what he did, especially at the end of the day. Ah well; only five more minutes and then it would be time to pack up. 

He was seated at his desk organizing the morning worksheets for the week when a student appeared at his side. John rarely got much work done during indoor recess or free choice time since students were continually coming up to tell him a story, show him a picture, or tattle on another student. The third one happened far more often than he’d like.

It was Henry, holding a paper which he held out to John almost shyly. John was prepared to praise the picture and then tell Henry to put it in his mailbox to take home, but when he saw it he paused with a sense of unease. 

The picture was of Sherlock, Henry, and himself. They were outdoors, and they were all smiling. They didn’t appear to be doing any activity, and there was the ever-present Bluebell at Henry’s feet. It looked very much like a picture a child might create if they were asked to draw a picture of their family. 

“This is great, Henry,” John said with a smile that was a tad forced. “I like all your details. Is that Bluebell?” he asked, pointing to the rabbit.

Henry beamed and nodded, obviously very pleased with himself, and it made John’s heart hurt a little to know that someone was going to have to explain to Henry that life and families weren’t as easy to put together as drawing a picture. 

“Well, nice job. You can go put it in your mailbox to take home, all right?” John asked, attempting to hand the paper back to Henry. 

Henry shook his head and pointed to John. 

“It’s for me to keep?” John asked.

Henry nodded and smiled.

“Well thank you very much. It’s lovely,” John replied. Henry nodded, and then headed back to the art table where Grace appeared to be coloring a rainbow and composing a song about ponies at the grocery store.

Looking back down at the picture lying on his desk, John sighed. He had a problem.

*** 

After school, he dialed Sherlock’s number. Sherlock picked up after two rings.

“Hi, this is John Watson,” John said, feeling like his stomach was doing its level best to turn inside out. “Do you think we could meet? Preferably somewhere with Henry out of earshot. I think there’s something we need to talk about.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of tough. I'm glad to be done with it and moving on!

John should have been more clear on the phone. What if Sherlock thought this was a date? No, of course he didn’t. John was sure he hadn’t sounded excited on the phone. He had probably sounded something more along the lines of ‘nervous’ and ‘very serious.’ He had told Sherlock that it was to do with a drawing Henry had done and that it was nothing to be worried about even though he himself was in the process of worrying about it quite a bit.

In hindsight, he probably could have resolved the issue over the phone. However, he had to admit that a part of him was glad for the chance to meet with Sherlock in person again, even if it was over a conversation that was bound to be awkward. John knew he was probably overreacting to the picture and that it most likely didn’t mean anything except that Henry liked his dad and John. Still, it might be better to be safe than sorry in this sort of situation. 

Sherlock had agreed to meet him at four-thirty that afternoon at a nearby coffee shop, which didn’t give John much time to clean up the room and get things ready for the next day. He hastily put out the morning work at each student’s spot, then sharpened the pencils in the dull pencils basket. Sometimes it felt like he was forever sharpening pencils. When that was finished, he got out the supplies he’d need for the lessons the next day and then took a quick glance at himself in the classroom’s bathroom mirror. He looked tired, had marker stains on his fingers, and some glue had dried on the hem of his sweater. Sighing, he shouldered his bag and locked the classroom door. He didn’t need to look his best; this was simply a meeting to discuss a drawing, not a date. And probably an unnecessary meeting, at that. However, Sherlock had agreed readily and that combined with what Sherlock’s mysterious brother had said left John with a tiny ray of hope that he couldn’t bring himself to extinguish.

It was a short walk to the coffee shop, and John found that he had arrived a little early. He ordered a coffee and put a generous amount of half-and-half in it. He found black coffee to be much too bitter and often really only drank it for the caffeine. Occasionally he did have a craving for it, and this was one of those times. Otherwise, he would have ordered tea.  
Scanning the room for an empty table, he found one in the corner against the window. One one hand, he was glad it was a two-person table as he usually felt guilty for taking up a large table that a family or a bigger group could have used. On the other hand, the two-person table made things seem much more intimate, and this was not a date. John sighed and sipped at his coffee; this was probably all in his head and there was nothing to be worried about at all.

Unfastening his bag, he pulled out a folder with Henry’s drawing inside and set it on the table, then got out his planner and began going over things for the next week. If he wanted to keep on schedule, he was going to have to somehow squeeze in six math lessons next week, which was not going to be easy. It was hard enough to do five. Maybe he could combine two of them, because really the only thing he could put off was handwriting but he didn’t want to get behind in that as well. He sighed in frustration. There was so much curriculum to get through and not enough hours in the day.

John was so absorbed in his planning that he didn’t notice Sherlock’s approach until the man pulled out the chair across from him. Startled, he looked up quickly and relaxed only a modicum when he realized it was Sherlock.

“Oh, sorry,” he said as he moved his things out of the way. “I guess I was more wrapped up in planning than I realized. That, or I’m more tired than I realized,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“Not a problem,” Sherlock replied, returning John’s grin with a small smile of his own. “I can’t imagine having to take charge of twenty-five five-year-olds every day.”

“Twenty-eight, actually,” John said with a rueful smile. “Budget cuts.”

“Ah, of course. Well, even more congratulations for your efforts are in order, then,” Sherlock replied smoothly, taking a sip of his drink.

A slight blush tinged John’s cheeks and he ducked his head, fussing with the papers sticking out of his planner. “Right, well. Thanks. I do my best, but when there are that many kids it’s just not enough,” he added a little sadly.

“Be that as it may, I do appreciate your efforts with Henry,” Sherlock replied. “Speaking of whom...” he trailed off, looking at John expectantly.

“Oh! Right. Um, I’m probably making a bigger deal out of it that it is, but I just...well, Henry’s a very sweet kid and I don’t want to see him hurt,” John explained as he pulled out the picture and handed it to Sherlock, whose expression betrayed no reaction. “He gave this to me today, for me to keep. Does he usually draw things like that? I mean, I don’t want to give him the wrong impression,” John said, then closed his mouth before he started to babble.

Sherlock’s gaze flashed to John before settling back on the drawing, but his expression was unreadable. At length, he spoke. 

“I can’t say that he does, actually,” Sherlock admitted. “He often draws pictures of him and myself - and Bluebell, of course,” he said with a slight smile and roll of his eyes. 

“I thought - well, it looks a lot like a picture a kid would draw of his family,” John said hesitantly. “Does he think - has he talked to you about this at home?”

“Are you attempting to ask if Henry thinks we’re dating?” Sherlock asked with an amused smile, and John wondered if Sherlock was enjoying his discomfort. “To be honest, I don’t think he’d be opposed to the idea.”

Did that mean Sherlock wouldn’t be opposed either? John took a sip of his coffee to give himself time to think. Sherlock took John’s silence to mean that he could continue talking.

“He speaks of you more frequently at home, ever since you came to dinner. He also asked again why I didn’t want to - oh, how’d he put it - ‘get him a mommy or another daddy,” Sherlock said, a flash of sadness distorting his features.

“Again?” John asked quietly.

“The first time was when you’d begun that unit on families,” Sherlock replied. “I...try to be enough for him, but sometimes I’m not sure if I am.” He looked equal measures embarrassed and uncomfortable, and John wondered why Sherlock was admitting what were clearly very private feelings to his son’s teacher. Maybe he didn’t have many people to talk to.

John resisted the sudden urge to rest his hand on Sherlock’s arm in a comforting gesture. “There are plenty of single-parent families that function just as well as two-parent families - sometimes even better,” he assured him. “I’m not an expert, but from what I’ve seen you’re providing him with a wonderful life. It’s probably just a phase,” he said, though he wasn’t as sure on the last part. 

Sherlock nodded. “Thank you. My apologies; I didn’t intend on becoming so personal about it.”

“Well, it started out as a pretty personal topic,” John replied with a smile to ease the tension. “It’s understandable. Anyway, maybe you could just explain to Henry that relationships take time and the right person has to be involved, that you can’t force something like that.”

“I don’t think I’d need to,” Sherlock said softly, his blue-silver gaze trained steadily on John. John felt his cheeks flush wholeheartedly, but before he could reply Sherlock stood gracefully.

“I’m afraid I have to get back - Mrs. Hudson is watching Henry and I promised I wouldn’t be gone long,” he explained with a smile that was partially a knowing smirk. “I’ll speak to Henry and see what I can do. However, I should warn you that once he sets his mind on something he can be very persistent.” With a wink and sweep of his coat, Sherlock was gone. 

John stared after him for what felt like quite some time, his mind racing to catch up with what had just occurred. 

***

Sherlock felt rather confident as he walked away from the cafe, a smug smile on his face. He had left John sitting there gaping in astonishment like a fish out of water, but had a feeling John wouldn’t hold it against him. Sherlock was already intrigued by John, and there was no doubt that John would be intrigued now as well. Making that suggestion to his son’s teacher was perhaps a risk, but Sherlock had never been one to play it safe. 

***

When John finally recovered and began putting his things away, he noticed a scrap of paper on the table that hadn’t been there before. In an angular, spidery scrawl it read:

_Thursday. 4:30p. Here, if convenient._

With a rush of anticipation, John grinned and tucked the note carefully in his planner and headed home.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone, this chapter's really short. Had a bit of a rough week and writing took a back seat to other things. Hopefully I can make up for it with next week's chapter!

“Daddy, where’d you go?” Henry asked as they walked up the stairs to their apartment.

“I went to meet with Mr. Watson,” Sherlock said.

“Oh,” Henry replied, jumping up the last two steps. “Well how come I didn’t get to come?” he asked, the beginnings of a pout hovering around his mouth. 

“It was a grown-up meeting,” Sherlock replied. Before Henry could ask any more questions, he added, “Mr. Watson showed me the picture you gave him.”

“Yeah, I drawed it during free choice time,” Henry explained as he pulled out his box of Legos. “Can you help me build a spaceship?”

Henry wasn’t acting like his picture was anything out of the ordinary, Sherlock noted as he sat down on the floor next to his son. Perhaps it was just a picture and nothing more. 

“Can Mr. Watson come over again?” Henry asked as he fitted a black Lego between two red ones.

“Mm, I’m not sure. We’d have to ask. He might not have time,” Sherlock replied. He went with that excuse rather than ‘he might not want to’ because Sherlock was almost certain that John would in fact want to. 

“Well yeah he probably does,” Henry said in a reasonable tone. “He has lots of time after school to do whatever he wants ‘cause he’s a growned-up.”

Sherlock hid a smile. If only being a ‘growned-up’ actually meant getting to do whatever you wanted. He made a mental note to share that with John on Thursday, assuming he’d show up. Sherlock had no doubts that he would.

“So why did you draw a picture of you, Mr. Watson, and me?” Sherlock asked, trying to sound casual. “Why not just you and Mr. Watson?”

“ _And_ Bluebell,” Henry added, lest Sherlock somehow forget. “I drawed all of us ‘cause we all like each other and I want Mr. Watson to have a picture of you too. ‘Cause he gots pictures of all of us at school from the first day, but he doesn’t got a picture of you.”

“He doesn’t _have_ a picture,” Sherlock patiently corrected. “And why would he need a picture of me?”

Henry rolled his eyes as he attached a wing to his spaceship. “‘Cause it’s good to have pictures of people you like and your friends and stuff,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Sherlock wasn’t sure where Henry had gotten that notion, though he expected it was from Mrs. Hudson, who kept framed pictures of her family and friends all about her apartment. 

“Henry,” Sherlock began hesitantly. Wording things delicately and sensitively had never been his strong suit. “I’m not sure Mr. Watson and I are _friends_ exactly. We’ve talked a few times, but I’m not sure that qualifies as being friends.”

“Bein’ friends is easy, Daddy. You just be nice and play together and share stuff, like me and Grace do,” Henry explained.

Clearly Sherlock needed advice on how to approach this conversation, so he decided to let it go for now.   
“Yes, all right. It sounds like you’ve learned a lot about being a good friend at school,” he said.

“Yep! Some kids aren’t good at it but I’m really good at it. I share all the time. Daddy!” he said suddenly. “I’ll tell you more later. I gotta go save Bluebell from pirates!” he yelled as he grabbed his spaceship and ran up to his room.

Sherlock chuckled as he watched Henry go. Space pirates; that was a new one. Reaching for his phone, he quickly typed out a text.

I need some advice. And don’t you dare breathe a word of it to anyone or I won’t assist on any more cases. SH

You liar, you can’t resist. You’d be begging for cases within two days. GL  
 Only the really interesting ones. SH

Right. So what’s up? GL

Henry drew a picture of himself, his teacher, and me together. SH

Ohoho. He’s the guy you had over for dinner, right? GL

How did you know about that? SH

Henry told me the other day. GL

Of course. Then I’ll start out by saying there’s nothing going on between us. SH

Didn’t say there was, but now I’m a little suspicious since you got so defensive. GL

I wasn’t being defensive. Are you going to help or not? SH

Yeah, yeah. What’s the problem? GL

I think Henry may be hoping that John and I will begin a romantic relationship. Or at least become friends. SH

So? GL

Well how do I tell him that might not happen? SH

Do you want it to happen? GL

Irrelevant. SH

I’d say it’s pretty damn relevant. GL

It would be inappropriate. SH

Why? Because he’s Henry’s teacher? Are you going to avoid associating with his pediatrician as well? Or his dentist? etc. GL

Ah, ‘etc.’ An excellent way to close your argument. SH

And what a great way to avoid the question. By the way, this would be a lot easier if you’d just call me. GL

I prefer to text. SH

Obviously. Do you want to date John? GL

It doesn’t matter. SH

Stop being a self-righteous dick and answer the question. GL

Yes. SH

Then ask him out. Simple as that. GL

I want to meet this guy, by the way. He must be pretty extraordinary to have gotten your attention. GL

What do I tell Henry if it doesn’t work out? SH

That’s setting yourself up for failure. Cross that bridge if you come to it. GL

If this all goes wrong it’s completely your fault. SH

I take full responsibility. GL

Pocketing his phone, Sherlock sighed and went to the kitchen to clear away his equipment so he could make dinner, still unsure what to do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all your support last week; you guys are fantastic! I really appreciated all the comments and encouragement.
> 
> Just a reminder that I'm allfinehere on Tumblr, and I sometimes post previews and updates there.

John awoke on Thursday feeling like he’d already had two shots of espresso, all because he was meeting one of his students’ parents at a coffee shop after school. Except this time it wasn’t just a meeting; John was fairly certain this time it was an actual date. 

The note from Sherlock was set out on John’s kitchen counter, as if he might somehow forget about it. Impossible, considering he’d spent nearly every spare moment thinking about it. Still, he had to admit he liked looking at Sherlock’s spidery scrawl even if it did make him feel a little as though he were acting like a lovesick middle schooler. 

After a quick shower, John spent an unusually long amount of time picking out his clothes. On ordinary days he didn’t put much thought into it. Clothes were clothes, and as long as they did the job and he looked fairly presentable, he was content. Sherlock was a sharp dresser, though, and John felt the need to impress. Or at least attempt it. Finally settling on dark grey slacks and a light blue sweater, he had to go through the rest of his morning routine fairly quickly in order to get to school on time.

Today John had to do reading assessments, which weren’t exactly his favorite but there were worse assessments out there, so he didn’t complain. His biggest issue was that it was boring, for both the students and himself. It had to be done, though, so he was thankful that the other literacy centers seemed to be running smoothly because that gave him more time to get assessments done.

The class was halfway through the literacy block when an argument broke out at the writing center. At this point in the year, their writing still consisted largely of pictures with labels, though some students attempted a sentence or two in the lined space underneath the drawing area. 

Wishing they had waited to argue until after he had finished the assessment he was doing, he got up and walked over, growing more concerned as he saw that Henry was in the writing center group.

“Pirates can go to outside space if they want to!” Grace shouted. It appeared she was defending Henry’s drawing. Henry sat still, glancing nervously from one girl to the other.

“OutER space,” Sophia replied, poking a crayon in Grace’s direction. “And no they can’t ‘cause there’s no oceans there so what’s their boat gonna go on?” she demanded.

“My friends at writing center,” John began in a serious tone, “it is way too loud over here. What’s going on?” he asked, though he was well aware of the situation. He had learned early on that kids would not let it go until they were sure their side of the story had been heard. 

Henry’s face had brightened when he saw John, but quickly returned to the nervous expression from before. John wanted to reassure him that it would be fine, but that would take away from the lesson he was trying to impart to the arguing students.

“Sophia said Henry’s picture was wrong ‘cause his pirates went into outside space,” Grace said hurriedly.

“Well it is wrong!” Sophia protested. 

“Okay,” John said, then posed a question. “When we’re at free writing center, is it okay to write about whatever we want to?”

“Yeah,” Sophia said. “But it’s not _real_.”

“And sometimes we only write about things that are real,” John agreed. “But when it’s free writing center, we can write about things that are pretend, too. So is it okay for Henry to write about pirates in outer space?” he asked gently.

“Oh. Yeah, okay,” Sophia replied, looking a bit put out that she hadn’t been right.

“Good. Now remember to use your whisper voices, and don’t forget to use lots of good details like we talked about,” John reminded them with a smile, then returned to the reading table. He was thankful it had been a simple misunderstanding; with his date looming in the near future, he wasn’t sure if he had the capability to deal with actual trouble very effectively right now.

It wasn’t like John to get so worked up about a date. He was quite good at them, in fact. The flirting, the easy laughter; it all came naturally to him. He’d never had a date with someone like Sherlock before, though. Even though John knew mind-reading was something out of comic books, he couldn’t entirely convince himself that Sherlock was not capable of it. There was something about his eyes, something slightly other-worldly that made it seem possible. 

When at long last the school day came to an end, John did his usual end-of-the-day routine, complete with a check in the mirror to make sure he looked presentable. To his surprise, he had managed to make it through the day unscathed and still looking rather good, in his opinion. 

Gathering his things, he left school feeling excited and nervous. It had been such a long time since he had been on a date, and he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t as if he didn’t want to date, but it had taken a backseat to his job without him really noticing. And it did get tiring trying to find someone exciting and interesting who didn’t spend the entire date talking about their cats or the trip they had just taken to Colorado with their ex. That had been weird.

John slowed when he realized he was about a block away from the coffee shop, then came to a complete halt in a sudden fit of worry. Ever since he’d tucked Sherlock’s note away after their last meeting, he’d been convinced that this was okay. If he wanted to get to know someone better, he should be able to. It shouldn’t matter that the particular someone had a son in John’s class. 

This is what he had repeated to himself until he believed it, but now they seemed more like excuses or coverups than reasons. He got out his phone and fiddled with it, considering sending Sherlock a message that he couldn’t make it. No matter what excuse he gave, though, he was certain Sherlock would see right through it and John didn’t want Sherlock thinking that he was a coward.

Eventually he got his feet moving again and arrived at the coffee shop in short order. He went to order something because he felt awkward when he walked into an establishment like this and didn’t purchase anything. This time he got tea; he didn’t need an overdose of caffeine jangling his already shaky nerves. As he had stood in line, he had surreptitiously scanned the shop and located Sherlock, seated on a small love seat tucked away in the back near the table they had sat at the first time. 

Tea now in hand, John took a deep breath, steadied his nerves, and walked over.

***

John was late. Sherlock looked over at the door for what felt like the thousandth time as the bell chimed, but it was a short black woman in a business suit. Defense attorney, happily married, and decidedly not John. 

Taking a sip of his coffee, he barely noticed the strong, bitter tones as he began to second guess his decision. He knew John was interested, and he had been certain that John would be agreeable to another meeting. A more personal one this time, and perhaps lengthier as well. 

But four-thirty and come and gone, and there was no sign of John. Not even a text to say he was running late. That was when Sherlock began to wonder if he had been stood up, though that didn’t seem like the sort of thing John would do. Then again, how well did he really know John? He knew things _about_ John, and he could extrapolate from those to form a hypothesis, but he didn’t know for certain. 

He intended to find out. 

His gaze snapped to the door as the bell chimed once again, and this time was rewarded by the sight of a tense-looking John. Sherlock smiled into his coffee. He was not being stood up; John had simply been second-guessing his decision. Perfectly reasonable considering his obviously high moral standards.

Sherlock looked up with a small smile as John approached. “Hello, John,” he said. “Have a seat. I would have tried for a table, but as you can see, they’re all full,” he added, gesturing around the room. In truth, he was pleased the couch was the only available seating as it implied a more intimate atmosphere than a table would have. 

“Right, thanks,” John replied, sitting so that there was still a small amount of space between them but not so far over that he was crammed against the arm of the couch. “So, how have you been?”

“Just fine,” Sherlock replied, wishing people didn’t insist upon pleasantries before getting to actual conversation. “Could do with a bit more excitement. My caseload has been slow, which I suppose is good for the general populace,” he said begrudgingly.

That earned him a grin from John. “Yes, terrible that crime is down,” he joked. “What do you do when you don’t have cases to work on, if you don’t mind me asking?” John asked, settling in as he relaxed into the conversation.

“I run a website and occasionally take on clients from there, but usually the cases they have are laughably easy or boring,” he shrugged. “It’s not worth it unless there’s actual brainwork to be done.”

John raised his eyebrows. “Even if it helped people?” he asked.

Ah, of course. Sherlock took a sip of his coffee, then replied, “Much of it is petty. A husband cheating on his wife and the wife wanting revenge, a sibling who thinks they have been cheated out of their fair share of the inheritance, someone whose dog’s gone missing. Dull,” he pronounced.

John nodded, “Yeah, I can see how that would become tedious.”

“Very much so,” Sherlock replied emphatically. “Though once in a while an interesting one will pop up. Recently I discovered that a mother was killing her step-children with a _snake_ that she let loose in their beds. Can you believe that! It’s as though she was asking to be caught. There are plenty of easier ways to -” Sherlock cut off as he realized the look John was giving him meant he was bordering on ‘not good.’ “I simply meant - well, it was certainly unusual,” he finished somewhat lamely. 

John seemed to accept Sherlock’s transition back into the world of acceptable. “Unusual indeed,” he smiled. “So - again, if you don’t mind me asking, how does Henry deal with the death that seems to go hand-in-hand with your cases?”

“Oh, he’s very practical about it,” Sherlock replied with a hint of pride. “He knows that everyone dies at one point or another, and some people die in unpleasant ways. He also knows that the people who die will be missed by people who cared for them. He’s quite mature about it all.”

“I’d say so,” John replied. “It can take kids a while to understand how death works. I know I’ve said it before, but Henry really is a very bright kid.”

Sherlock smiled. “Thank you. I think so as well.”

The conversation progressed easily, and Sherlock told John about a few more of his cases. John listened eagerly, interjecting with several ‘amazings’ and ‘fantastics.’ As they talked, the space between them shrank until their knees were brushing frequently. This was going far better than Sherlock had expected. Perhaps Mycroft and Greg were right and this was something he could have.

Before Sherlock knew it, it was six o’clock and he was due to pick up Henry. Both men stood simultaneously, and Sherlock’s breath grew shallow as he realized he only need lean in a few inches and he could kiss John. John was watching him intently, pupils dark as he licked his lips. Those were all the signs Sherlock needed; it was clear that John wouldn’t mind if Sherlock kissed him. Sherlock lowered his head, intending to give John a chaste goodbye kiss, but at the last moment John jerked away. 

“I - um, I’m sorry. I have to go. Thank you, I had a great time. I really did,” John said earnestly. “I just - I can’t - thank you,” John stammered, and with a sad smile he left the shop.

Sherlock watched him go, feeling let down and foolish. He should have never attempted to kiss John on their first date. They hadn’t even clarified that it was an actual date until the very end, for God’s sake. _This_ was why Sherlock stayed far away from the world of dating. 

It never ended well.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Factoid: The names of kids in this fic are all names of kids in classes I've taught in.

That had not gone as planned.

Then again, Sherlock hadn’t planned on kissing John on their first date. Had John even known it was a date? Neither of them had mentioned it specifically, but surely John had to have known. He had certainly acted like he was on a date. As for the almost-kiss, John had given every sign that he was agreeable to the notion, but pulled away at the last second. Sherlock wondered if he had scared John off for good. Then again, John had seemed almost regretful of his decision, so perhaps there was still hope.

Realizing he was attracting attention by standing and staring at the door, Sherlock gathered up and disposed of their trash then headed home at a brisk pace. He couldn’t help thinking that a case would be a nice distraction, so he pulled out his phone and quickly typed out a text.

I need a case. SH

Date didn’t go well, I take it? GL

This was a terrible idea. SH

I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. GL

I tried to kiss him. SH

Good god. You really don’t do anything by halves, do you? GL

It is not funny. SH

It’s a little funny. What happened after? GL

He apologized and left. SH

Well if you want to kiss him, maybe next time you should try it after taking him to a nice place for dinner instead of trying to kiss him in the middle of a coffee shop. GL

Next time? What makes you think there will be a next time? SH

What makes you think there won’t? GL

I embarrassed him and made an idiot of myself. SH

God you’re dramatic. It really isn’t that big of a deal. Just ask him to dinner. GL

And what reason could he possibly have to say yes? SH

Quit being a baby and do it. I don’t have a case for you anyway. GL

Once again, you have been entirely unhelpful. SH

You’re welcome. GL

Sherlock shoved his phone back in his pocket as he entered his building and went to pick up Henry from Mrs. Hudson, sighing in frustration.

***

John regretted his decision to leave the shop almost immediately. Why hadn’t he just let Sherlock kiss him? John had wanted to, and perhaps that is what had scared him into leaving. He had been so quick to imagine kissing Sherlock, spending quiet evenings with him, and taking Henry to the park or the museum. John shook his head, thinking he shouldn’t be able to slot himself so easily into someone else’s life. 

He didn’t even know Sherlock that well, and he hardly believed in the concept of love at first sight or soul mates. Yes, it was important to find a person who complemented you, but relationships took work. John had had many partners over the years, and many of them were lovely, interesting people. They just hadn’t been the right fit; it always felt like something was missing. When John was with Sherlock, it felt different. Then again, he hadn’t spent very much time with the man, so how could he really tell? Maybe this was all in his head.

John pulled out his phone to call Sherlock and apologize then ask him to dinner, but he hesitated. That might make him seem needy and desperate. The best thing to do, he decided, was wait a few days and see how he felt then. 

***

The kids were packing up and John breathed an inward sigh of relief. The full moon had coincided with a Friday, which made an already wild day even more hectic. People laughed when he told them the theory, but if you worked with kids you knew that they always got wilder whenever a full moon rolled around. John didn’t have any science behind that fact, just experience. It wasn’t uncommon to hear teachers commiserating every month, attributing the kids’ behavior to what was essentially a giant space rock. It sounded crazy, but John believed in it wholeheartedly.

John made his way through the maze of backpacks, lunch boxes, coats, and kids to the ‘mailboxes,’ a slotted shelve where students stored their folders and papers than needed to go home, like notes, finished work, and drawings. 

Pulling out two folders, he called, “Drew! Athena! Come get your folders!” over the din. While he was handing the folders to the kids, a man around his age with grey hair approached the open classroom door, moving to the side to avoid a particularly determined child dragging a very full backpack into the room.

“Hi, can I help you?” John asked. It wasn’t unusual for parents to occasionally pick up their kids a few minutes early, but he hadn’t gotten a note from anyone and he didn’t recognize the man at the door. 

“I’m Greg Lestrade,” the man said, offering his hand. John took it, noting the firm, professional grip of his handshake. “Sherlock Holmes asked me to pick up Henry for him today.”

“Ah,” John replied, picking up loose papers on the table and straightening them out. “Is he working on a case?”

Greg looked at him initially with surprise, then with a smirk and one eyebrow raised. “He told you about that, did he?”

John was confused. “Um, yes. Should he...not have?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Greg laughed. “He just usually doesn’t bother talking with people more than he has to. I’m the detective he works with,” Greg explained.

John’s eyes lit in understanding. “Oh, so you’re one of the people Henry talks to, right?” he asked.

“Yep,” Greg said with a smile. “Last time I was over he told me all about school. And you,” he added, his smile widening into a grin.

“Good things, I hope,” John laughed.

“Nothing but the best about Mr. Watson,” Greg replied.

“John, please,” John said. “I think Henry’s just about ready, so you can take him whenever he’s set to go.”

“I can see why they both like you,” Greg said casually, looking out across the room.

Caught off guard, John could feel the tips of his ears growing pink. He wasn’t so sure Sherlock liked him all that much now that John had rejected him and then run out. “Well, one of them does anyway,” he said lightly, keeping an eye on a few kids who tended to dawdle and conveniently avoiding Greg’s gaze should it happen upon him.

“Listen,” Greg said hesitantly. “I’ve never seen Sherlock act this way about anyone. He barely even speaks to anyone twice if he can help it,” he added with a wry laugh. “This is probably way out of line, but I, ah...heard about what happened the other day and I think you should give him another chance. He’s a great man, and he’s well on his way to being a good one. It wouldn’t hurt him to have a little help, though,” Greg said with a sidelong glance and a grin.

John’s cheeks flushed, and thankfully Henry chose that moment to come over. He smiled and waved at Greg, his overlarge Avengers backpack on his shoulders. 

“You all set to go, Henry?” John asked, happy to have an excuse to end the conversation. 

Henry nodded and gave him a thumbs-up. 

John laughed. “All right, then. I’ll see you Monday.”

He was thoroughly distracted through the rest of dismissal, thinking about what Greg had said.

***

Later than night, John was perusing the shelves of a book store on a whim when a man a few years younger than him with a lovely smile approached him and began flirting. John was surprised that he felt conflicted as this was a very attractive man, but ended up agreeing to a date on Saturday night. He felt slightly guilty, though he tried to ignore it. It wasn’t as if he was actually dating Sherlock, and maybe a date with someone else would help John figure out what to do about the situation he was in. He left the store with no books, but a phone number and a date.

***

On Sunday Sherlock’s phone alerted him to a text, and he rolled his eyes in annoyance when he realized it was from Mycroft.

John went on a date over the weekend. If you still want a chance at him, you’d best do something about it. MH

Sherlock put down his phone, stretched out on the couch, and began making plans.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempting to move on with the plot and not get caught up in too many little details! I don't want this to end up being a fic that drags on way too long.

John’s date went well. David took him to a nice restaurant, but it wasn’t too fancy that it made John uncomfortable. They had interesting conversation, and it became clear partway through dinner that David either intended to take John home or go home with John. John felt a pang of guilt for a short moment, but reminded himself that he wasn’t actually dating Sherlock and had perhaps put Sherlock off altogether. 

They ended up going back to David’s place. They drank the wine David poured for them and chatted a bit, but it wasn’t long before they ended up in the bedroom. Much of the night had been spent not sleeping, and in the morning John felt a weary satisfaction that he hadn’t experienced in quite a while. Stretching pleasantly, he lingered over a cup of coffee and smiled at David, who was cleaning the kitchen.

“Sorry I have to get going so soon,” David said as he wiped down the counter. “I would have loved to stay in bed a little longer,” he added with a sly grin.

“It’s probably just as well,” John mused with a mock-serious expression. “I’m getting too old for all that activity.”

David laughed and threw a towel at John’s head, which hit its mark and fell into his lap. “Oh, stop,” he protested. “I could barely keep up with you last night. It was amazing,” he added, almost shyly.

John smiled and got up to wash his mug, but David took it from him and placed it in the dishwasher. “I had a great time, too,” John assured him, and was surprised to find that it was true. Maybe his feelings for Sherlock were just a crush. Still, there was an excitement that came from being with Sherlock that he hadn’t found with David, but on the other hand being with David was relaxing and held a strong sense of comfort and normality.

The question was, did John want normal?

After a brief kiss and goodbye outside David’s apartment, John headed back to his place feeling a little conflicted but mostly pleased with himself. That was why he hadn’t noticed the black car tailing him until he stopped at a crosswalk and the window slid down. 

“John. Get in, would you?” came the smooth voice from inside. John recognized it and frowned.

“Don’t think so. My mom told me to never get in the car with strangers,” John replied, willing the light to change color.

“We’re hardly strangers, though, are we?” Mycroft replied. 

“Look. If you have something to say, say it,” John said flatly. “Otherwise, I’ll thank you to leave me alone.” John could only assume this had something to do with his date with Sherlock, and he really did not want to talk about it with Sherlock’s mysterious, bordering-on-creepy brother. 

“Very well,” Mycroft replied with a hint of annoyance. John could see him as he stepped closer to the car; he was dressed to the nines and had a look on his face to match his tone. “I realize my brother doesn’t have the keenest grasp on social venues, especially when it comes to romance and relationships. I would urge you to give him another chance.”

John rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” he said hesitantly.

“I could make it worth your while,” Mycroft said. “I’d be willing to offer an amount I believe is more than fair-”

“What?” John spluttered, cutting him off. “You’re offering to _pay_ me to date your brother, like some sort of escort?” 

Mycroft shrugged, as if the suggestion didn’t bother him in the slightest. “Call it what you will, but if you don’t enjoy the date then at least you would have gotten something out of it.”

“No,” John said forcefully. “No. Absolutely not. Does he know you’re doing this?”

“On the contrary, he gets upset when I ‘meddle in his life,’ as he so dramatically puts it. However, he doesn’t always realize when he needs help,” Mycroft replied smoothly.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” John said shortly. “I think I can make up my own mind about what I’d like to do, and I certainly don’t need any bribes to do it.”

The light changed, and John walked away from the car with short, angry strides. He was offended and a little creeped out. Maybe it was a sign that he shouldn’t pursue things with Sherlock after all, if events like that were going to happen. However, he did wonder if he should call Sherlock and let him know that his brother was going around offering people money to date him. John would certainly want to know if his sister was doing that to him. Yes, he would be mortified, but he would still want to know.

When he got back to his apartment he had cooled down enough to think rationally and decided that he should let Sherlock know what had happened. That might get Mycroft to stop bothering him as well. He pulled out his phone and was about to dial when he took the coward’s route and decided to text instead. This wasn’t really a conversation he wanted to have via voice as it promised to be extremely awkward.

Hi, this is John Watson. This is a little awkward, but I thought you should know that your brother offered me money to go on a date with you. JW

Did you take it? SH

What? No, of course not. JW

Pity. We could have split it. SH

We what? He basically treated me like an escort, you realize. JW

Would you like to go to dinner? SH

John stared at his phone, not quite believing what he was reading. Apparently he hadn’t scared Sherlock off. It also appeared Sherlock wasn’t the romantic type. A dinner invitation over text didn’t exactly scream ‘let me woo you.’ That was just fine, though; John didn’t want to be wooed. He wanted to get to know someone...which is what he had been doing with David. The Sherlock-David debate came back in full force, but in the end there wasn’t much of a contest at all. And he and David had gone one one date; it wasn’t as though they were in a relationship either. His reply was quick and succinct. 

I’d love to. JW

***

It seemed that when it came to John Watson, none of Sherlock’s plans ever went accordingly. Ideally he had wanted to talk to John face-to-face and apologize for trying to kiss him, then ask if he’d be willing to try again - a do-over, if you will. Failing that, Sherlock would have talked to him on the phone; he could be charming when he deigned to be. But no, in the midst of an embarrassing revelation about his brother’s actions, he instead invited John to dinner out of the blue without his carefully planned apology.

And John had said yes.

Treasure this moment, because it will probably be the only one in the foreseeable future in which you were right. SH

About what? GL

John, obviously. He accepted my dinner invitation. SH

See? Told you that you were making too big a deal out of it. But I’m sure you didn’t text just to tell me I’m right. GL

Yes. There is a minor problem. He said ‘I’d love to.’ Love. SH

Good god you really are out of touch sometimes. That’s a good sign. It means he’s looking forward to it. GL

Ah. Yes. Of course. SH

I feel like I’ve become your personal relationship counselor. Maybe I should start charging fees. GL

Fine, I’ll assist you on any horrifically dull case you want. SH

Excellent. Hope dinner goes well! GL

Your hopes bear no effect on the outcome of the dinner, but they are appreciated. SH

***

John had not only agreed to dinner, but to dinner that night. That meant he would be with two men in the same day, which made him feel a little more promiscuous than he actually was. Ah well; what was done was done, and he wasn’t going to stop himself from enjoying this date. They were going to meet at Angelo’s, an Italian restaurant that was somewhere between classy and casual and was fairly close to both of their homes. Sherlock had said he knew the manager there and John loved Italian food, so it seemed like as good a place as any. 

Sherlock was there when John arrived, waiting outside. He smiled as John approached and a flurry of butterflies erupted in John’s stomach as he returned the smile. As soon as they entered the restaurant, a man John assumed to be Angelo greeted them.

“Ah, Sherlock! It’s been a long time; you must visit more often. But what a lovely man you’ve brought!” Angelo said with a large wink and in a loud enough voice to make John blush, certain the whole restaurant was staring at them “Come, I have a cozy little table in the back that will be perfect.”

The table was pretty perfect, John had to admit. It was tucked away in the corner with a soft light ensconced in the wall. There was a small flickering candle on the table as well, which John thought was perhaps a bit much but he appreciated Angelo’s enthusiasm all the same. 

“So how do you know Sherlock?” John asked the large man, missing the look of slight alarm that crossed Sherlock’s face.

“Oh, we go back quite a way,” Angelo chuckled. “This genius here got me off a murder charge, believe it or not! Proved I was in an entirely different part of town robbing a store! Those were the old days, though. I’m a reformed man, now. Life gave me a second chance and I took it! I’ll be right back with some wine for you boys,” he said with another wink.

John looked at Sherlock in surprise for a moment, then laughed. Sherlock relaxed into his seat with a small smile and shrugged. “It’s true, and he has been kind to me every since we met. As I’m sure you can tell,” he said wryly.

“The restaurant of an ex-thief,” John said with an almost-giggle. “You certainly know how to show a man a good time.”

“Yes, well, I wouldn’t want things to be dull, now would I?” Sherlock asked with a smirk.

“I don’t think things with you would ever be dull,” John said in a moment of sincerity that surprised them both. Before either of them could get too flustered, Angelo arrived with the wine and took their orders.

Much like the previous times they had spent together, conversation flowed easily and John felt as though everything was a little more vibrant. All too soon the restaurant had emptied out and it was time for them to leave.

They lingered outside the restaurant, chatting in close proximity. John was determined to have a better end to this date than the last one. Realizing his gaze had dropped to Sherlock’s lips, he refocused on Sherlock’s entire face - not before Sherlock had noticed, however. With a small smirk, the taller man stepped closer and there was no question about his intent. This time when Sherlock leaned in to kiss John, John moved to meet him. Their lips met gently, warm and soft. When Sherlock pulled back just slightly, John’s eyes fluttered back open, though he didn’t remember closing them. 

“I...do you want to come back to my place?” John breathed, throwing caution to the wind and acting on instinct instead.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Sherlock replied, still only inches away. 

“Oh, yeah, of course,” John stammered in embarrassment. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have -”

“You misunderstand me,” Sherlock murmured in a voice that John found far too sexy for his own good. “I’d be very agreeable to going home with you, but I haven’t set up overnight accommodations for Henry.”

How could John have forgotten? “Right, yeah,” he said with sheepish smile. Then, taking a bit of a chance, he added, “Maybe next time?”

“Definitely next time,” Sherlock replied, leaning down to kiss John one more time. John wanted so much more, but he could wait.

“Thanks for everything. I had a wonderful time,” John said, though ‘wonderful’ didn’t quite do it justice.

“You are very welcome. I had a wonderful time as well,” Sherlock replied. He took John’s hand and gave it a squeeze, then let it go. “Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah,” John said with a smile stretching across his face. “Goodnight, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, John.”

Now _that_ was a night Sherlock could count as a success.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for not posting last week! I work two jobs so I usually write on the weekend, but I had family visiting and was participating in a craft show so I had no time to write. Hopefully in this chapter I've addressed some of the issues brought up in the comments on the last chapter. Thank you all for your continued comments and readership! You're awesome!

“Hey Daddy did you go on a _date_ last night?” Henry asked with equal amounts of curiosity and disgust when they got home from school. “Mrs. Hudson said   
you went on a _date_.”

Sherlock hesitated. He hadn’t intended to broach this subject until he was more certain about things. He had a longstanding policy of not lying to Henry, though, as he didn’t believe in coddling children and shielding them from the truth. “Yes, I did. Is that all right?”

Henry mulled over the question as he got out the baking soda. While the baking soda and vinegar combination was an exceedingly simple reaction to create, it amused Henry to no end and he often requested to do this particular experiment. Sherlock got down the food coloring from a high shelf, just to make it a little more interesting.

“Yeah. But Grace says that dates are so people can get married. Are you getting married?” he asked as he sifted through several bottles to find the correct vinegar. 

“She’s correct; dates are good ways to find out whether you get along with another person and to get to know them better,” Sherlock replied. “But a date doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to get married.”

“Hm,” Henry said as he dumped a liberal amount of baking soda in a bowl. A fine white cloud puffed up and gently coated Henry’s curls. He stopped to look at Sherlock, a slightly uncomfortable look on his face. “Grace said that on dates people _kiss_. Is that true?”

“Ah. Well, yes,” Sherlock answered, hoping the questions stopped at kissing.

Henry’s eyes widened. “So you _kissed_ somebody?” he asked, mildly horrified.

“I did,” Sherlock replied with a small smile as he remembered the moment. “Though dates don’t have to include kissing.”

“Gross,” Henry replied, making a face as he mixed red food coloring with the vinegar, splashing it on the counter as he did so. “Well then I’m never going on dates,” he announced.

Sherlock chuckled. “I think you might change your mind when you’re older. If you don’t, though, that’s fine.”

“Oh I won’t,” Henry promised. “Okay, are you ready for the ‘speriment?” he asked excitedly, as if they hadn’t done it a hundred times before. He adjusted his goggles over his eyes and picked up the pitcher of colored vinegar dramatically. Without waiting for Sherlock to answer (because daddies were always ready), he poured the vinegar into the bowl of baking soda. 

He giggled and then jumped back as the concoction hissed, fizzed and bubbled its way over the edges of the bowl, onto the counter, then down to the floor. 

“Oops!” Henry cried gleefully, not one bit remorseful for the mess he had made. When the reaction died down, he pulled a long row of paper towels from the counter onto the mess, not bothering to tear them off. Sherlock leaned over to assist, but froze as he heard Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs. When she poked her head through the door, an astonished look appeared on her face. Father and son both looked at her with matching guilty expressions.

“My goodness, boys! What a mess!” she exclaimed.

“It was just an explosion,” Henry sheepishly explained. 

“Why’s it gone all red? It looks like someone’s been murdered up here!” she replied, tossing a hand in the air in exasperation. 

“Just food coloring, baking soda, and vinegar, Mrs. Hudson. Nothing that can’t easily be cleaned up,” Sherlock explained. 

“Well, yes, all right. See that you do,” she said with a mock frown and a twinkle in her eye. 

“Did you need something?” Sherlock asked expectantly.

“Oh! Yes, I’d almost forgotten what with the...explosion,” Mrs. Hudson replied. “I just wanted to check in on you after last night. How was your date with that lovely teacher fellow?”

Henry’s head shot up from where he had been sopping up the experiment on the floor. Sherlock’s cheeks flushed, and Mrs. Hudson remained entirely oblivious to the fact that Henry hadn’t known who Sherlock’s date was. 

“Ah, good. Yes, it was good. A nice evening,” he replied. Not one of his most graceful coverups. 

Henry’s eyes widened. “Daddy, did you go on your date with _Mr. Watson_?”

Thus far there had only been a few times where Sherlock wished Henry wasn’t so good at making deductions, and this was one of them. “I did. If it bothers you, I won’t do it again,” he said sincerely. While he would very much enjoy pursuing something with John, Henry was most important person in his life and he always came first.

“No, it’s okay,” Henry said slowly, processing the new information. “But...” he trailed off.

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, suddenly apprehensive.

“Daddy,” Henry said, his large grey eyes very serious. “You have to promise you’re not gonna kiss Mr. Watson ever ever again.”

Sherlock laughed and ruffled his hair, then said, “Don’t worry about it. You need to finish cleaning up this mess.”

With a long-suffering sigh and a general disdain for cleaning up that he undoubtedly got from his father, Henry set about soaking up the remains of the red bubbly liquid.

***

To put it lightly, John was in a good mood. There was still a lingering feeling of ‘maybe I shouldn’t be doing this,’ but it was mostly squashed by the knowledge that things had gone well with Sherlock and that there was going to be another date. He also still felt a little foolish that he had sort of forgotten about Henry at the end of the date, and hoped Sherlock didn’t think badly of him for it. He had considered texting Sherlock an apology, but then decided that Sherlock hadn’t seemed offended by it at all and perhaps it was best left forgotten. 

He noticed that all throughout the school day Henry kept shooting him glances with an almost smug smile on his face, which John had dismissed as a ridiculous notion because what did a five-year-old have to be smug about? Something was definitely up though, and by the end of the day it dawned on John that Henry might know about the date. He would have to ask Sherlock to find out for certain, and in the meantime he supposed he could be thankful that Henry wasn’t upset about it.

John’s class had music at the end of the day on Tuesdays, which was nice because it gave him a chance to get things ready for the next day, meaning he could leave school a little earlier. Checking his phone for the time because the clock in his room always managed to be a few minutes off, he was surprised to see a notification for a text from Sherlock.

I realize this is last minute, but would you be able to meet after school? I thought we might make plans for the weekend, if you’re amenable. SH

Are you sure you don’t want to meet just so you can see me? JW

John hoped the teasing relayed well via text.

Ah, you’ve caught me out. SH

Good. And yes, that would be great. Same place? 4 work for you? JW

Yes. Mrs. Hudson will be by to pick Henry up as I’ll be out working until then. SH

Sounds good. See you then. JW

After dealing with a child who was absolutely convinced she was supposed to go home with a parent rather than on the bus (and it turned out that she was indeed supposed to take the bus), John was glad to get out of the school. The fact that he had now had something of a personal life was pretty exciting, and he marveled at it as he went to meet Sherlock.

John arrived first this time, ordered some tea, and sat down on the small love seat they had occupied the last time - the time that didn’t go so well. John was confident that they would not have a repeat of that, though, considering what they were here to talk about. When Sherlock walked in, John couldn’t help the broad smile that stretched across his face.

“Hi,” John said when Sherlock sat down next to him in a great sweep of his coat.

“Hello,” Sherlock replied. “How have you been?” he asked with an expression that told John he knew perfectly well how John was.

“Oh, all right. Getting that text from you was a nice surprise,” John replied with a smile.

“Mm, perhaps I’ll send them more often then,” Sherlock replied with a wink. An honest-to-God-wink. It took John a moment before he remembered to shut his mouth.

“So, this weekend, I’m mostly -” John began, but was cut off by his phone ringing. Frowning, he looked at a number he didn’t recognize.

“Not someone you know?” Sherlock asked.

“Don’t think so. I’m supposed to be getting a new student this week, though, so it might be about that. Do you mind if I take it?” he asked apologetically.

“Not at all,” Sherlock replied.

John swiped his thumb across the screen to answer. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s David,” came the voice on the other end. John’s face paled.

_Shit._

“Hi David, how are you?” he asked as he walked quickly to the doors and outside the coffee shop. This must be a work number, and he was an idiot for forgetting to call things off with David sooner. Shit.

“Pretty good. Listen, I had a great time on Saturday and I was wondering if you were free this Friday?” he asked, a definite hopeful note to his voice.

John felt extremely guilty and was not looking forward to explaining this. “I - ah, I’m afraid I can’t,” he began. “It’s just that I went on a date before I met you and I thought I’d missed my chance with him - well, I actually wasn’t entirely sure if it was a date,” he rambled. “Sorry, you don’t need to know that. The thing is, I didn’t think I’d see him again, and now I have, and I’d like to continue seeing him. And I think you’re a fantastic person and I truly did have a nice time with you, but he’s...well, I can’t really explain it. Which isn’t fair to you, I suppose. I just...I think I fit better with him,” John ended lamely, hoping that somewhere in that outpouring of explanation was something that made sense to David.

There was a small pause on the other end of the line. “I see. I mean - yeah, I get it.” His voice was tinged with hurt.

“I’m really sorry, David. I should have been more up front about it,” John apologized.

“No, it’s all right. Just - if you two don’t work out, give me a call, okay?”

“Absolutely,” John replied, and they hung up. 

As he walked back into the coffee shop, he was sure what had just occurred was written all over his face. “Well, with all your deductive skills I’m sure you can figure out what that was all about,” he said a bit miserably as he sat back down. 

Sherlock was sitting stiffly, an unreadable look on his face. “You had been on a date after our first date,” he began. “Though I suppose neither of us actually clarified that it was a date. You went out with him Friday or Saturday - probably Saturday, and spent the night with him. Otherwise you wouldn’t look so guilty.”

In a fit of cliche, John wished the couch would open up and swallow him whole. He nodded silently.

“You’ve broken things off with him, and he took it well. You wish he had been angry, because you feel you deserved it. His kindness was harder for you to bear,” Sherlock added.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock,” John replied. “It’s true, I didn’t know if we were actually dating or anything and he was nice-”

A flash of jealously contorted Sherlock’s face before he schooled his features back into the blank-slate look.

“Er - I mean, well. I didn’t intend to hurt either of you, and once I found out you wanted to continue things I meant to call things off with David. Which I obviously forgot about,” John added with a self-depreciating roll of his eyes.

“It’s fine. I would ask from this point on that we remain exclusive,” Sherlock said, unaware that such a request was considered a fairly serious one by many people.

John wasn’t bothered in the least. “I’d love to,” he said with a small smile. “So...this weekend?” he asked hesitantly.

Sherlock mirrored his smile. “Yes. Would Friday or Saturday be preferable to you?”

“Friday sounds lovely,” John replied immediately, then wondered if he shouldn’t have picked Saturday so as not to sound overeager.

“Good. I preferred Friday as well,” Sherlock said. “I’ve arranged a sleepover for Henry with his friend Grace. He’ll be going to her house. I was a bit worried that he wouldn’t be able to communicate if need be, but he assured me that Grace always knows what he’s talking about. Is that...have you noticed this to be the case?” he asked, slightly worried.

“It’s as if she can read his mind,” John replied reassuringly. “I’m honestly beginning to wonder if she can’t,” he added with a grin. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Speaking of Henry, does he know about us?” John asked, a little more bluntly than he intended to.

“Ah. Well...yes,” Sherlock replied, a pink flush dusting his cheeks. “Perhaps I should have consulted you first, but he asked and I make it a point to be honest with him. So, yes. He knows. But he has made me promise never to kiss you, so I will have to adhere to that promise,” Sherlock said with a serious look.

John studied him for a minute, trying to decided if Sherlock was serious or joking. He decided on - and hoped for - joking. “Mm, well, we’ll just have to be very sneaky then,” he said, the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Agreed,” Sherlock said with a smile of his own. “So seven pm Friday, then?”

“Sounds excellent,” John agreed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well darlings, this chapter boosts the fic's rating to M. If you prefer not to read that sort of stuff, it's pretty obvious where it starts up so you can just skip the rest of the chapter. Any helpful suggestions for improvements are welcome!
> 
> In other news, I got a full-time sub job as a Kindergarten TA, which I am excited about. However, it might mean less writing time so I might miss a week here and there. You can check my tumblr (allfinehere) for posting updates.

The apartment was a disaster. John would be there in an hour, and it looked as though a small whirlwind had taken up residence during the last week. Wondering how that had happened, he realized the whirlwind’s arrival coincided with Mrs. Hudson’s absence. Despite her claims of not being their housekeeper, it seems she did a lot of tidying up for them. Now that she had left for a week to visit her sister, her hard work was made very clear by the state of the apartment. Sherlock hadn’t even noticed how messy it had gotten, and Henry might have noticed but said nothing because the less cleaning he had to do, the better. 

Henry had been nervous to stay away from home for the night, but Sherlock promised him he could call to be picked up any time. He seemed assured, and once he was at Grace’s house and rolling around on the floor with the litter of puppies the family dog had given birth to a month prior, all traces of hesitancy were gone. Sherlock left his number with Grace’s parents, but was fairly certain they wouldn’t need it.

Now he rushed around the apartment attempting to clean up, and after he had cleared out the worst of it, he gave up. Sherlock was many things, but unless it was about his personal appearance, tidy was not one of them. Deciding John would prefer having Sherlock look good than the apartment look good, he got in the shower and planned out the night in his head.

John would arrive, they’d chat for a bit, then go out to dinner. After dinner they would go back to one of their apartments, most likely Sherlock’s because it was somewhat familiar to John whereas John’s was unknown to Sherlock, and because Sherlock had asked John over to his in the first place. Then they might have a post-dinner drink or coffee - probably something alcoholic in nature to ease the nerves. Then again, maybe not. John had seemed very sure of what he wanted last time they had met. Sherlock remembered the low intensity of John’s voice, which had made his skin tingle in anticipation. It had been a question, but after his initial hesitation there had been an undertone of ‘do as I ask,’ which Sherlock found quite thrilling.

Realizing he was running out of time, Sherlock waded out of the memories to find that his cock had taken a decided interest in Sherlock’s reminiscing as well. He rolled his eyes and ignored it as he turned off the water and stepped out, grabbing a towel to dry off. He did not have time for that.

Not long after, Sherlock was impeccably dressed in black slacks and a lavender button-down shirt. He left off the jacket for now, knowing full well that he posed an intimidating figure when dressed in a full suit. His hair was artfully styled, a few curls falling over his face in just the right places. Sherlock knew he was attractive and wasn’t above using it to his advantage. That, and he knew John appreciated the way he looked, though he hadn’t actually said anything about it. He didn’t need to. His body language practically screamed it. Absently, Sherlock wondered if John knew how much he gave away just through the motions of his body and his responses. Probably not.

***

Sherlock was nearly vibrating out of his skin when the bell finally rang. He met John at the door, who looked very handsome himself. He had on a dark blue jumper that brought out his eyes. After a polite exchange of hellos, Sherlock led John up to the apartment, depositing him in the living room as he got them each a glass of wine. He paused in surprise when John held out a bag (containing a book, Sherlock noted in a glance).

“Didn’t think you’d really want flowers,” he said with a smile.

Sherlock accepted the bag and pulled out a book about apiology. He regarded it and then in turn John with surprise. 

“You mentioned last time that you found bees fascinating, so I thought you might enjoy it,” he explained with a shrug.

“No, it’s - it’s really excellent. Very thoughtful,” Sherlock replied, overcompensating for his former silence. “I look forward to reading it.” He found he was quite touched by John’s gesture and fought his every instinct to put his guard up. For once he needed to not sabotage himself and give this a chance. John listened to his stories with actual interest, so he was worth not scaring off simply for that - not to mention his other intriguing qualities.

“Good,” John said, clearly relieved to see that his gift had been well-received. “So did you have any ideas for dinner?”

“I thought I’d let you pick this time since last time you were at my mercy,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“The food was fantastic last time,” John assured him. “How do you feel about Thai?”

“I haven’t had it in a while. Sounds delightful,” Sherlock said.

“All right. I know a good place not far from here,” John said, pleased. “And what do you think about getting it to go and bringing it back here?” he asked hesitantly. “Their food is great but the dining atmosphere isn’t the best,” he explained.

Sherlock considered this. After their last date he had been eager to go home with John, and would have done so if it weren’t for his responsibilities. Now, however, it seemed he had backtracked in his willingness to be intimate even though they both were undoubtedly aware that’s what this night was about. Eating dinner at a restaurant would have allowed Sherlock to ease into things, but bringing the food back to his apartment felt abrupt.

Seeing his hesitation, John hurriedly said, “Eating there would be fine. It’s a little noisy, but I’m sure we’ll manage fine,” he added with a reassuring smile.

Sherlock hadn’t realized he’d been thinking long enough for John to notice. “Ah, no, eating here is all right. I’d like to be able to have a conversation without needing to shout,” he said smoothly. 

“Good, then. We could walk, if that’s okay with you?” John asked.

“I’d like that,” Sherlock replied as he put on his coat, then led John out the door.

They ordered and got their food, and Sherlock was glad he had agreed to eat at his home. The place, while clean and well-managed, was loud and it would have been difficult to converse. As they walked back, food steaming in a plastic bag, John slid his hand into Sherlock’s so naturally that at first Sherlock didn’t react, as if it were something they did all the time. When he did react, it was only to squeeze John’s hand and smile slightly as they walked, fallen leaves crunching underfoot.

***

They abandoned the table for the couch, sitting cross-legged and facing one another and eating straight out of the paper cartons as if they were college students rather than two full-grown men on a date. Sherlock relaxed quickly and told more animated tales about the cases he’d assisted on, marveling at John’s continued interest. John honestly thought Sherlock was amazing, and the way that made Sherlock feel was something he was loathe to let go.

Stretching a leg out, Sherlock accidentally nudged John’s thigh but John said nothing of it and Sherlock did not retract his long limb. This was nice, he realized. This companionable conversation, sometimes broken by comfortable silences as they ate. Just as he was contemplating how to achieve more physical contact with John without being too obvious, his phone chimed. He automatically put down his food and picked it up, frowning as he read the message. As he scanned the screen, his eyes began to light up.

“This idiots couldn’t solve their way out of a paper bag,” he grumbled as he sat up straight. “There’s been a robbery by a ghost, apparently. No one came in the door and the apartment’s too high up to have entered from the outside. No fire escape,” he said, unconsciously getting to his feet to pace around the room.

John could see he was eager to investigate. “Sherlock, if you want to go check it out, that’s fine with me. We can reschedule.”

Sherlock looked up, as if he had momentarily forgotten John was there. “Or you could come with me,” he offered. “Ever been to a crime scene?” he asked with a smug grin.

“Can’t say that I have, though I’ve been to war so I imagine I can handle it,” John replied with a broad smile as he got up, already reaching for his coat.

As it turned out, the crime had been committed by backing a truck up to the building and using a series of ladders to climb to the window, which the owner always left unlocked thinking no one could get to it anyway. After some asking around, they obtained a description of a truck that had been lingering near the building for several days prior to the break-in, and Sherlock set off to find it with John in tow. 

They did find it, and waited in hiding until the owner came to drive away. There was a spirited chase through several alleys until John managed to cut him off and tackle him to the ground. Twisting the man’s arm behind his back to immobilize him, John was out of breath and feeling alive when Sherlock caught up to them. They grinned at one another as the teenage boy underneath John cursed.

After Lestrade arrived to take the boy in for questioning, John and Sherlock headed back to Sherlock’s flat, both giddy with the night’s excitement. Sherlock let John into the flat, who stood in the entryway with his back against the wall, catching his breath and giggling.

“That was ridiculous,” he said between gasps. “This is by far the best date I have ever been on.”

That statement took Sherlock by surprise, which mean the wasn’t paying attention to the upturned rug and promptly tripped over it and right into John’s arms. He might have thought about how that was a cliche straight out of a romcom, if he ever watched that sort of thing. His immediate reaction was to apologize, but he found that no words were forthcoming as his senses was overwhelmed by the feeling of being pressed against John. 

John gave a small gasp as Sherlock fell into him, bracing his hands on Sherlock’s hips to keep him upright. As he tilted his head up, Sherlock was surprised and pleased to see that John’s pupils had widened, leaving only a ring of dark blue encircling them. Of course, that could be because of the dim lighting in the entryway, but Sherlock knew that was only one of the contributing factors. Sliding his fingers along the side of John’s neck against his pulse point, he confirmed his theory. John’s heart rate would be higher than normal due to the excitement of the case, but at this point it wouldn’t be this high unless there was another factor - he was aroused.

Slowly Sherlock inclined his head to meet John’s lips in a soft kiss. John’s grip tightened on Sherlock’s hips as he made a small noise, and then the kiss was no longer slow and sweet but intense and passionate, fueled by the adrenaline singing in their veins.

Sherlock broke off the kiss with a gasp. “Upstairs. Wouldn’t want Mrs. Hudson to kick me out for lewd behavior,” he smirked, taking John by the hand and leading him once again up the seventeen steps. John followed eagerly.

Once inside with the door safely shut and locked, John stripped off his jacket and tossed it over a chair while Sherlock did the same, but John backed him against the door before he could do away with his scarf. 

“You’re really actually amazing,” John murmured against his skin as he trailed kisses along his jaw, pulling his scarf off gently and letting it fall from his hand to pool on the floor. “They way you figure things out from practically no information - it’s very sexy.”

Sherlock let his head fall back against the door, exposing his neck to John’s ministrations and smiling at the idea of what he did for a living being ‘sexy’. He found that he had untucked John’s shirt and that his hands were roaming over the warm skin of his back, though he didn’t remember doing it. “Mm, bedroom?” he asked in a low voice.

“God, yes,” John agreed, backing away so Sherlock could lead on.

John only had a moment to survey the bedroom before Sherlock crowded into his space, sliding his hands under John’s shirt and tugging it off over his head.

“Oh,” he breathed, brushing his fingertips over John’s scar. 

John looked uncomfortable. “Sorry, it’s - just ignore it, if you can,” he said, avoiding Sherlock’s gaze. 

Sherlock shook his head. “No, it’s fascinating,” he said, tracing the outline of the puckered skin.

Pink tinged John’s cheeks as he asked, “Really?”

“Mm,” Sherlock assented. “This is an exit wound. Shot in the back, then,” he said, mostly speaking to himself. He gently turned John around to trace his fingers over the entry wound. “How did it happen?”

John stiffened, clenching and unclenching his left hand. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he said quietly.

“Ah. Um, not good?” Sherlock asked, slightly confused about what he’d done wrong.

“It’s just...personal,” John said as he turned around, determinedly setting to work on the buttons on Sherlock’s shirt, which he undid with quick efficiency. Sliding the shirt over Sherlock’s shoulders and tugging it off, he let it drop to the floor to join his own. 

“My apologies,” Sherlock replied, pressing his chest to John’s as he kissed him, enjoying the feel of his warm skin. 

John soon forgot the incident and kissed Sherlock with renewed fervor, pressing him back against the bed. Sherlock laid down obligingly and John crawled on top of him, pressing kisses to random places on his chest. Sherlock’s breath caught in his throat when he felt John’s tongue on his nipple, so he pressed his palm against John’s crotch in retort.

John moaned and captured Sherlock’s lips in another kiss, rocking his hips rhythmically against Sherlock’s. It had been a long time since Sherlock had done this with anyone. Since before Henry was given into his care, in fact. He’d always had superior control over his body, and sex became something he neither wanted nor needed. Well, he almost never needed it. Occasionally his body would require sexual release in order for him to be able to think properly, which he efficiently took care of on his own.

It seemed that in that time he had forgotten how nice it was to _not_ think and simply feel instead. He focused on John’s weight on him, his smell of shampoo and sweat and tea, his slightly chapped lips against Sherlock’s own. Sherlock craved more, and soon both men were divested of any remaining clothing. 

Wrapping a leg around John’s, Sherlock flipped their positions with ease. John looked surprised but pleased, and Sherlock began a thorough exploration of his body. He longed to pay attention to the scar, to taste and feel and compare, but he didn’t want to upset John again. Perhaps someday John would tell him about it, and then he would be comfortable letting Sherlock do just that. For now, Sherlock was mostly content mapping out every inch of John’s body with care. 

John relaxed into his touch, becoming limp and pliable beneath his lips. Sherlock made his way up John’s left arm and back to his lips, where he kissed John hungrily as he ground his hips purposefully and repeatedly against John’s.

They both gasped into the kiss; Sherlock because he’d never done this with someone whose company he actually enjoyed, and John because he was already so sensitized to Sherlock’s touch. They kept up a relentless pace, relishing the slide of skin on skin. 

It might have been minutes or hours for all he knew when Sherlock shuddered, his entire body tensing and then relaxing all at once. A couple more slick slides had John following soon after, and Sherlock collapsed half-on, half-off him in sleepy satisfaction. 

“Amazing,” John breathed as he gently carded his fingers through Sherlock’s damp curls.

“Mm,” was all Sherlock could manage, inhaling John’s scent as he buried his face in the man’s neck.

“We should get cleaned up a bit,” John added.

“No,” Sherlock replied. “Don’t want to get up.”

John chuckled and eased himself from Sherlock’s grasp. Finding his way to the bathroom, he wetted a washcloth and cleaned himself up, then returned to clean Sherlock as well. He made Sherlock get up so that he could pull back the covers, then they climbed into the bed together. They kissed lazily for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s presence and the feeling of sated bliss. 

“Thank you,” Sherlock murmured sleepily.

“For what?” John asked.

“This. What we did. It was - good,” Sherlock replied, finding it hard to express himself.

“Then I suppose I should thank you too. This was the best night I’ve had in god knows how long,” John murmured.

“Suppose we’ll have to do it again,” Sherlock said. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint.”

“Suppose we will,” John said with a soft smile.

They lay murmuring to each other for a little while longer, then fell asleep in one another’s arms as the noises of the city went on as always outside the darkened room.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots of POV switching this chapter, sorry!

So, how was it? GL

I’ve already given you my full report on the scene. I’m certain even your lot can take it from there. SH

Don’t be a dick. I meant your date with John and you know it. GL

Ah, so you want all the lurid details. SH

Details of your sex life? No thanks. I just wondered how it went. GL

Very well. SH

I am pleased. SH

Oh really? Must have been damn near perfect, then. He seems like a nice guy. I wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. GL

You can’t. We’re exclusive. SH

For god’s sake, Sherlock. I don’t want to date him. He asked you to be exclusive already? That’s a pretty big step. GL

He didn’t ask. I told him. SH

Oh my god. And he didn’t dump you on the spot? GL

No. Why would he? SH

Generally exclusivity comes after dating a while. And you reach the decision together. GL

We did. SH

You are a very lucky man. GL

Apparently so. SH

You really are unbelievable. I’ll let you know when we’ve got a lead. GL

***

The lead turned out to be multiple leads, and Sherlock had to arrange for Mrs. Hudson to pick Henry up from school. When she reminded him it was Halloween, he groaned. He was going to have to miss trick-or-treating with Henry, and that was not going to be lightly forgiven. Sherlock did his utmost to put Henry before the work, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. They were after a kidnapping ring that was taking children and selling them to the highest bidder, no questions asked, and Halloween would be a perfect night for them to strike. It was essential they be caught immediately.

Mrs. Hudson could pick Henry up, but she couldn’t take him trick-or-treating due to her bad hip. Lestrade couldn’t do it for obvious reasons and Grace’s family was out of town (Henry had been severely disappointed by this), which only left one person.

I have a big favor to ask. You can say no. SH

What is it? JW

I’m on a case and I can’t take Henry trick-or-treating. SH

I’ll do it. Assuming that’s what you’re going to ask, that is. JW

Yes. Thank you. I owe you. SH

It’s no problem. I bet he’s not going to be very happy with you, though. JW

You think so, too? SH

It’s all he’s been writing about in writing workshop for the past two weeks. JW

Damn. I might have to relent on the bunny issue. SH

Maybe. What time should I be over? JW

7\. He’ll be with Mrs. Hudson. She’ll have him fed and ready to go. SH

All right, sounds good. JW

We’re after a kidnapping ring, and Halloween would be an opportune time to strike. Ordinarily I do not put my work before Henry. SH

It’s fine, I understand. If I had a kid I’d probably feel the same. Good luck out there and be safe, okay? JW

Of course. Thank you. SH

No problem. JW

***

John set down his phone, feeling an odd mixture of pleased and worried. He was concerned for Sherlock because it sounded like he was on a dangerous case, but he was pleased that Sherlock had asked him to take Henry trick-or-treating. He wondered what Henry would think about that, though. It was clear that he adored his dad and was extremely excited about Halloween, and John felt like he might seem like an intruder. 

Henry seemed to be okay with the fact that his dad and his teacher were dating, though John didn’t know exactly what that meant to Henry. Maybe he thought John and Sherlock just liked to spend time together. Maybe he just didn’t care. John would have to ask next time he saw Sherlock. 

Sifting through the papers on his desk, he looked up at the clock. Five minutes until the kids came back from lunch and recess. He sighed and sat back, deciding to give himself those five minutes to relax. Halloween was a fun day, but extremely busy. Thanks to the continuing popularity of Marvel superheroes, he had several Iron Mans again this year - one of which was Henry. There were many princess, a ninja turtle, a ghost, a witch, a power ranger, a bunny, two pirates, and a Batman, among other things. 

The remainder of the day flew by in a flurry of Halloween activities, and suddenly it was time to pack up. John called Henry over to his desk to explain the evening, since Sherlock wouldn’t be able to do so himself. 

“Henry, Mrs. Hudson’s going to be picking you up today. Your dad’s on an important case and he can’t leave.” John hesitated, trying to figure out the best way to continue. Henry’s features were already transitioning from cheerful to disappointed. “Which means he won’t be able to take you trick-or-treating tonight.” And there it was, the crestfallen look of the utterly disappointed. Sherlock was going to owe him for this, because he did not like to be the one responsible for the look on Henry’s face. “He asked if I would take you. I could do that, if you want me to.”

Henry looked thoughtful for a moment, clearly torn between being disappointed that his dad couldn’t go with him and being excited that he could go with his teacher. Finally he nodded and gave John a small smile, then went to finish packing up his things.

Well, at least that had been settled without too much trouble. Grabbing the dismissal clipboard, he began calling out the names of the bus kids to line up.

***

I would advise against letting Henry trick-or-treat tonight considering what you’ve been up to. MH

I have it under control. SH

Do you? Because I’m fairly certain the kidnapping ring has yet to be apprehended. They know you’re after them; what better way to hurt you than by seizing your heart? MH

Poetry, really? Enough with the dramatics. Everything will be fine. In any case, I won’t be with him, as I am working. SH

Oh? MH

John’s taking him. SH

Interesting. You trust him with your son’s life so soon? MH

Yes. You don’t know him, so I will thank you to refrain from commenting. SH

Oh, but I do. Not as...intimately as you, perhaps. MH

What? SH

Suffice it to say we’ve chatted. MH

Ah yes, your bribe. Tell me brother, how did that go? SH

As expected. We conversed beyond that, as well. MH

I really couldn’t care less what you think; John’s taking Henry out tonight. SH

And I think he is a fine choice. MH

It wouldn’t matter what you think anyway. I have work to do. SH

Of course. Best of luck. MH

I don’t need it. SH

After a moment’s hesitation, Sherlock brought the conversation with John up on his phone and typed a quick message.

A ring of kidnappers is...less than pleased with me. Tonight could be dangerous. SH

The reply was quick, and made the corners of his mouth twitch up in a small smile.

I went to war. I think I can handle it. Plus I’m nearly out of candy so getting bite-sized versions by begging for it seems like the best course of action. JW

***

John showed up at 221 Baker Street a little before seven. Not ten seconds after he’d rung the buzzer, Henry was opening the door to let him in with Mrs. Hudson trailing happily in his wake. 

“Oh John, it’s good to see you again! I’m so glad things are working out so well for you and Sherlock,” she said with a fond smile. “He’s a good boy and he’s always so alone up there. He deserves someone - another grown-up, of course,” she said with a wink to Henry, “to share his life with. So it’s a good thing you came along!” Before John had a chance to tell her that they’d just started dating and that while he was enjoying it, it was still early days, she continued with, “Have you eaten, dear? Henry’s just finished eating so there’s plenty of food left.”

“I actually ate before I came, but thanks for the offer,” John replied with a smile. “And I imagine Henry’s ready to get going.”

Henry nodded enthusiastically and grabbed his treat collecting pumpkin bucket in one hand and took John’s hand in his other, hauling him towards the door. 

John laughed. “We’ll see you later, Mrs. Hudson,” he called, and the door shut neatly behind them.

Since Henry wasn’t inclined to contribute to conversation, John kept up an easy flow of chatter as they went building-to-building and door-to-door, and Henry replied in expressions and gestures. Despite Sherlock’s warning, it was a fun and danger-free night, and more than once John imagined what this might be like if it was his normal life rather than doing a favor for the man he was dating. Could he be a parent? When he was younger he’d always pictured himself as having a family with a few kids, but as he got older it seemed like the time for that came and went. Perhaps his outlook had simply changed. He did know that if he continued to date Sherlock, having Henry in his life would be an excellent bonus.

They set off back to Baker Street once Henry’s bucket was nearly overflowing, and when the arrived John was pleased to see that Sherlock was there. Henry bounded up the steps to their apartment and proudly showed Sherlock his haul, then proceeded to dump it all out in the middle of the living room floor to sort through for the best pieces. 

“Thank you for doing this for me,” Sherlock said as he pulled back slightly from a hug. “I very much appreciate it.”

“Well, you owe me a gigantic favor now so it was worth it,” John teased. “It was fun; we had a pretty good time, I think.”

Suddenly Henry jumped up and ran over, tugging on John’s sleeve. Crouching down, John asked, “Everything all right?”

Henry hesitated, playing with the fabric of John’s sleeve. He stepped closer so that there were about six inches between his face and John’s. “Thank you. We had fun,” he said in just about the quietest voice imaginable. Then he grinned and ran back to his candy hoard as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

John stood, looking at Sherlock who wore an expression of utter shock. A wide smile spread across John’s face. “Well. That was...that was amazing,” he said.

“I - it seems you’re a very unique individual, John Watson,” Sherlock murmured as he pulled John close. 

“Nah, I’m just really excellent at candy-collecting. Bet you didn’t know that was the trick all these years, did you?” John grinned, leaning into Sherlock with his shoulder.

“Mm, you’re right. The books never said anything about that,” Sherlock replied with a small smile. 

They both watched Henry sort enthusiastically through his candy, thrilled at the progress he had made.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short chapter this week because that's all I could get done.
> 
> EDIT: I've received lots of comments about how Thanksgiving isn't celebrated in the UK. However, this story is set in the US and we're all about the turkey over here :)

EDIT 2: Since people don't appear to be reading the author's notes, I'll repeat it here: I am fully aware that Thanksgiving is not celebrated in the UK. This is a US AU story, hence the US holiday of Thanksgiving. Over the next several weeks, John and Sherlock spent a large amount of their free time with each other, often with Henry as well. They fell into a comfortable routine around one another, and John began to find it hard to imagine his life without Sherlock and Henry in it. That was a somewhat unsettling prospect, as he and Sherlock hadn’t been together that long and it seemed risky to be this involved so soon. John had never been one to shy away from risks, though, so he didn’t dwell on it long.

John sometimes felt like he marked the passing of time in holidays rather than months or weeks. In school the students were continually looking forward to the next holiday, and “how many days until Halloween?” became “how many days until Thanksgiving?” before he knew it.

Thanksgiving had always been a messy, uncomfortable day in John’s family. They celebrated because that’s just what people did, but his family had a hard enough time sitting through a meal themselves let alone a meal with relatives. There were always fights, and John never understood why they continued to do it year after year. Once he was an adult, he opted out of family holiday celebrations. 

This year he was a little nervous because he suspected he might be invited to 221B for Thanksgiving, but wasn’t certain since spending holidays together seemed like a fairly large step in a relationship. Should he politely decline so as not to intrude? And if he did go, would it just turn into another nightmare dinner? Hopefully not, but it was hard to shake eighteen years of bad experience.

The kids had created a small storm of coats, hats and boots as they got ready to go out for recess and were attempting to form a line. John roused himself from his thoughts and began to create order.

“Tyler, you don’t get your spot back once you get out of line,” John said to a boy who was trying to shove his way back in line. Tyler grumbled and dejectedly trudged to the end of the line, arms crossed over his chest.

Though it took the kids ages to get their gear on, it took about ten seconds for them to leave the classroom and dash out to the playground. John shut the door behind him and zipped up his coat. When he turned to follow the stampede to the playground, he noticed that Henry had hung back.

“Everything okay, Henry?” John asked.

Henry stepped closer and tugged on the hem of John’s coat, so John crouched down beside him so they could be eye-to-eye. John prepared for a guessing game of invented sign language, as most communication with Henry went. He hadn’t spoken to John since Halloween, but John had figured he’d do it again when he was ready.

Henry stepped closer and into John’s personal space, which he was more than used to as most Kindergartners did not understand the concept of personal space.

In a voice just loud enough to be heard over the shouts on the playground, Henry asked, “Can you come over for Thanksgiving? Daddy said I can help this year,” he added proudly. 

“Oh,” John said in surprise, both at the request and that Henry was speaking to him in a fairly public place. “Um, well we’d have to ask your dad if it would be okay,” he said with a smile.

Henry rolled his eyes in a near-perfect imitation of his father. “‘Course he wants you to come over. Sometimes he even talks to you, _even when you’re not there,_ ” Henry said conspiratorially. 

Again, John was surprised - both by the fact that Henry had been speaking to him for this long, and that Sherlock, apparently, missed him when he wasn’t there. He grinned. “I’ll just double check with him to be safe, okay?”

“Okay,” agreed Henry with a serious nod, then promptly took off for the swing set.

A warm, pleasant sensation spread through John’s chest as he headed closer to the playground. Obviously he was aware that Sherlock liked him, but now he had a clue as to the extent. He wondered what Sherlock told him when he wasn’t there, and he imagined that Sherlock would not be entirely pleased to learn that particular secret was out. John heard a lot of things from students that parents most likely did not want them sharing, and he had to admit it was pretty amusing.

***

When John got home from work he retrieved his phone and sprawled out on the couch to send a text to Sherlock. 

I found something out today. JW

You’ll have to be more specific. And interesting. SH

Oh, I think you’ll find it interesting. JW

Go on. SH

Someone told me that you talk to me when I’m not there. JW

Henry spoke to you again? SH

Just briefly, out at recess. JW

Interesting. That’s excellent. What else did he say? SH

He asked if I could come over for Thanksgiving. I told him we’d have to ask you first. JW

Well why wouldn’t you? SH

Well, you know, it’s sort of a family holiday and all that. JW

Henry wants you there. Of course you can come. SH

And what about you? JW

Oh, I suppose some company would be nice. SH

Maybe I’ll show you how nice it would be after Henry goes to bed. JW

John Watson, that is highly inappropriate. SH

And since when are you concerned with being appropriate? JW

Point taken. Mrs. Hudson will be there for dinner as well, and Mycroft will probably stop by if he can fit through the doorway. SH

Ah, brotherly love. So touching. JW

You haven’t known him long enough to understand. SH

I’m sure. Although he did try to kidnap me. JW

See? There you have it. SH

Henry said you’re letting him help with dinner this year. JW

Last year I told him he could help this year and thought he would forget. He obviously has not. SH

You could always let him help with pie. Pumpkin’s easy to do. JW

I suppose. SH

I could come over early and help, if you want. JW

I’m certain Henry would enjoy that. 4 pm, then? SH

Sounds good. We’re still on for this Friday, right? JW

Of course. SH

Great, see you then. JW


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I just want to make sure that everyone is clear on the fact that this is an American AU. We very much celebrate Thanksgiving here.

It was Thanksgiving, and Sherlock was nervous. Once again he had attempted to clean the apartment, but quickly gave up as it was in a continual state of clutter and to be honest, he _liked_ it that way. Thankfully Mrs. Hudson did stop by and tidy up the worst of it, saying with a wink that she would be back in time for dinner and no earlier. Sherlock rolled his eyes at that, which he always did whenever she commented on his relationship with John. It was all in good nature; he knew she was pleased for him, and she knew he was equally pleased about the situation - if not more so.

Sherlock was currently stretched out on the couch, plucking an aimless tune on his violin while Henry played upstairs in his room. He had gone through another superhero phase around Halloween, but was now back on space pirates. Sherlock would not be surprised to go up to his room and find that Henry’s bed had once again been divested of sheets and blankets to be transformed into some sort of space pirate ship. Sherlock couldn’t really see the design, but Henry always seemed pleased with it.

The main reason Sherlock was nervous was not really because of the state of the apartment, but because he was given to understand that spending the holidays with one’s significant other was a big deal. John hadn’t told him specifically, but it wasn’t hard to deduce that holidays in his family had never been particularly pleasant. Because of that, Sherlock wanted this Thanksgiving to be as near to perfect as he could make it. It wasn’t entirely selfless, though. A strongly possessive side of Sherlock wanted John to like holidays with him the best because then he wouldn’t want to be anywhere but with Sherlock. He was aware that this was perhaps not good, but he also knew he had a very addictive personality and with him it was everything or nothing. And he wanted everything. All of John.

He carefully hid these feelings as it was still early on in the relationship, and it terrified him to think that John might not want to give all of himself to Sherlock. If he didn’t reveal his desires, John could not reject them. It was as simple as that.

The turkey was in the oven, and all that was left to do for the moment was wait for John to arrive. Whatever Mrs. Hudson said, cooking was not a mystery to Sherlock. It was a science, and science was second nature to him. It was just that he rarely had occasion to cook fancy meals as both he and Henry were picky eaters.

A rambunctious clatter came from the stairs as Henry appeared in the living room, still wearing an eyepatch over one eye. 

“Daddy, it’s hard for me to see with this on,” he complained as he made his way over to the couch.

“Well then take it off,” Sherlock suggested practically while he was forced to make room on the couch for his son.

Henry managed to look offended as he squeezed in between the back of the couch and Sherlock. “I can’t take it _off_ ,” he said in a scandalized tone. “I won’t be a space pirate if I take it _off_.”

“Well,” Sherlock mused as he set his violin out of harm’s way, “I’m fairly certain space pirates do not attend Thanksgiving dinners.”

Henry thought about this seriously, head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder as he played with a button on Sherlock’s shirt. “Well...then maybe I can be a space pirate after Thanksgiving,” he conceded, pushing the eyepatch off his face and setting it on Sherlock’s stomach. 

“Mm,” Sherlock replied. “Good idea. And you’re supposed to help with the pie later, and I don’t think pirates are very good at making pies.”

“Prob’ly not,” Henry replied seriously. “They prob’ly just want to shoot it or hide treasure in it, and then we can’t eat it.”

“And then Mr. Watson would be most disappointed if he found out the pie had been all shot to pieces,” Sherlock added with a smile.

“Yeah,” Henry giggled. “So no pirate pie.”

“No pirate pie,” Sherlock agreed.

They were both quiet for a moment, lying on the couch in comfortable silence. Which, of course, did not last very long with a five-year-old in residence.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you love Mr. Watson?”

Sherlock was taken aback by the question. After Sherlock had explained that he and John were dating and part of dating meant becoming friends, Henry had seemed to accept it and continue on with no further questions.

“What gives you that idea?” Sherlock asked carefully.

“Well because Grace says that if you have a boyfriend then you’re in love,” Henry said, as if it was the most obvious fact in the world.

That gave Sherlock pause as well. He and John had never actually put a label on their relationship, but he supposed that yes, John was his boyfriend. But did he love him? Was it too soon to tell?

“Well, having a boyfriend or girlfriend doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in love,” Sherlock began.

“What’s nessressarily?” Henry interrupted.

Sherlock rephrased. “Having a boyfriend doesn’t mean you have to be in love. You might like each other very much, or you might just be getting to know one another.”

“But you know Mr. Watson and you like him too ‘cause even though you _promised_ I saw you _kissing_ him when he went home last time!” Henry accused triumphantly.

“Well...you shouldn’t have been spying,” was all Sherlock could come up with. “And technically I didn’t actually promise I wouldn’t kiss him. But I’ll try to make sure you never have to see it ever again,” he said with a smile.

“Good,” Henry replied, apparently satisfied with the compromise. “So does Mr. Watson love you?”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. “I...we haven’t really talked about it, so I’m not sure.”

“Okay,” Henry replied, seemingly satisfied with the answer. Sherlock wondered if that would actually be the end of it.

“Tell me a story,” Henry demanded.

“Tell me a story, _please_ ,” Sherlock corrected.

“Tell me a story, _please_ ,” Henry replied, mimicking Sherlock’s tone.

“All right. Made-up, or real?”

“Made up,” came the decisive reply as Henry snuggled into Sherlock’s side.

“Okay. This happened a long time ago, so things were much different than they are now...”

***

John smiled as Mrs. Hudson opened the door and greeted him. 

“Hello, dear! I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Is everything all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, everything’s just fine. I came a little early to help out. Happy Thanksgiving, by the way,” John replied as he entered the building.

“Well isn’t that thoughtful of you!” Mrs. Hudson said cheerily. “They’re both up there, go on. I’ll see you in a bit!”

“Thanks,” John replied with a smile, then headed up the stairs. He walked into the apartment to find Sherlock and Henry on the couch together as Sherlock told a story, animating the words with one hand. John thought he might either melt or burst with affection for Sherlock right then, but before he could do either Sherlock noticed he was there.

“Hello, Jo - _ugh_.” Sherlock’s greeting was cut off by Henry’s mad scramble over his father to get to John, whom he hugged tightly around the waist. Had John not been well-balanced at the moment, he might have been knocked over by the force of it. This was interesting to him as Henry didn’t show the same amount of affection at school as he did privately. John didn’t know whether this was an instinctive behavior, or if Sherlock had talked to him about it.

“Hi Henry. Good to see you, too,” John laughed as he wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders. In his other hand was a bottle of wine, which he held out to Sherlock.

“I know you told me not to bring anything, but I couldn’t just show up empty-handed,” he smiled apologetically. 

Sherlock accepted the bottle and put it in the fridge to chill. When he came back, he said, “Ah, I hope you don’t mind, but I believe Lestrade is coming to dinner as well.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” John said with a roll of his eyes. He would have continued, but Henry grabbed him by the hand and pulled him into the kitchen, which smelled heavenly. On the counter were ingredients to make pumpkin pie. 

“Are you in charge of the pie?” he asked Henry.

Henry nodded proudly.

“And would you like me to help?”

Henry nodded again, this time a little more shyly.

“John, you don’t have to -” Sherlock interrupted, but John cut him off with a look.

“I came early to help, didn’t I? I’d be happy to,” he replied.

Henry grinned and got out every single measuring cup and spoon from the drawer to his right.

***

The pie was baking in the oven and everything else was prepared and set on the table when the guests began to arrive. First was Mrs. Hudson, of course, who had insisted on bringing homemade rolls that, in John’s opinion, looked absolutely delicious. Mycroft and Lestrade arrived simultaneously, both looking a little flustered and glad of a distraction as they entered the apartment. 

“Uncle Mycroft!” Henry shouted, abandoning his Legos to envelop his uncle in a tackle-hug. “Hi Mr. Greg,” he added, having recently decided he could call Greg by his first name if he added ‘mister’ in front of it. Greg didn’t mind in the least.

Henry stepped back and narrowed his eyes, observing them in a manner reminiscent of his father. “Did you guys come to Thanksgiving together?”

“No,” Mycroft replied quickly. A little too quickly, Lestrade thought as he gave Mycroft a sidelong glance. “We merely arrived at the same time.”

“Hmm. Okay,” Henry said suspiciously. “Hurry up so we can eat dinner.”

“Henry, that’s not polite,” Sherlock called from where he was pouring drinks.

“But I’m hungryyy,” Henry complained.

“We’ll eat soon,” Sherlock promised. Henry did not appear entirely pleased with this answer.

Mycroft pulled a small book from his jacket and handed it to Henry. “I believe I promised you this a while ago,” he said with a smile. 

Henry’s eyes widened as he reverently accepted the book. It was a book about how to take care of a pet rabbit. “Thanks, Uncle Mycroft,” he said, gaze still trained on the book. Entirely forgetting about dinner, he went to the living room to peruse his new treasure.

When Mycroft looked back up, he found Lestrade watching him. Noticing he had been caught, the detective averted his gaze and walked briskly over to Mrs. Hudson and began chatting with her. Hm. Mycroft would have to file that away to be examined later.

“Why must you make my life difficult?” Sherlock complained, suddenly appearing at Mycroft’s side.

“I am simply encouraging his interests,” Mycroft replied smoothly.

“Of course you are,” Sherlock retorted sarcastically.

“Speaking of interests, how are you and Mr. Watson getting along? Quite well, I take it?” Mycroft asked smugly.

“That is none of your business,” Sherlock huffed, and stalked back to the kitchen without another word. 

***

Dinner was delicious and probably the best family event John had ever attended. There was lots of talk and laughter instead of shouting and arguments. Mycroft and Sherlock did snipe at each other, but Greg and John acted as good buffers. To John’s surprise, Mrs. Hudson got in on it, too. She appeared to be a sweet old lady, but she could really hold her own. It was also interesting to John that Henry was very talkative. Though he did speak to John now, he still didn’t talk much around him. Around this table, however, was everyone in the world that Henry spoke to, and perhaps that bolstered his courage. 

“Daddy,” Henry said suddenly, his voice cutting through the din. “Did you know that Uncle Mycroft and Mr. Greg came here together?”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, studying the two men in question. Mycroft looked as cool and composed as ever. Greg’s reaction gave much more away. “Mm, I’m afraid they didn’t. Just arrived at the same time,” Sherlock corrected. Then, with a somewhat predatory grin, he added, “Though I believe at least one party would have liked to arrive together, if not both.”

John giggled at that pronouncement, then clapped a hand over his mouth as the dining room had gone suddenly quiet. Greg’s cheeks were flushed and Mycroft looked slightly uncomfortable.

“Oh now Sherlock, stop teasing your brother,” Mrs. Hudson admonished. “Even if they would make a lovely couple, you shouldn’t interfere,” she added with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

“Well he interfered first,” Sherlock grumbled. 

“Oh _really_?” Mrs. Hudson asked with interest. “Well Mycroft dear, I’m afraid all’s fair in love and war!”

Most of this had gone over Henry’s head, and he was getting bored. “Mr. Watson,” he said, interrupting the conversation. 

John looked up in surprise. Henry had not spoken to him that loudly or clearly before. “Yeah?” he asked, forgetting momentarily about the roll in his hand.

“Do you love my daddy?”

The whole table fell silent once again as John’s brain tried to process the question. He could feel his cheeks growing red as he stammered, “I, ah...well, we haven’t exactly, um...” he trailed off. Now this seemed much more like a family dinner - embarrassment and all.

“He does,” Mycroft cut in, a small, smug smile on his face. Sherlock glared daggers at him. John stared at his roll.

“If he does, great. If he doesn’t, that’s none of your business,” Greg reprimanded Mycroft. Mycroft, in turn, looked surprised then somehow approving. John smiled thankfully at Greg.

“And I love him as well, so can we please move on?” Sherlock said, gaining shocked looks from everyone but Henry. 

John had imagined once or twice what it might be like when he and Sherlock talked about this subject, and it had never turned out like this - outed at Thanksgiving dinner, when neither of them had even discussed it yet. Despite that fact, John was surprisingly okay with it. He smiled warmly at Sherlock, then continued eating his roll as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Conversation soon picked up again, and before John knew it dinner was finished, cleaned up, and everyone was headed home. Henry was fast asleep on the couch, so John offered to take him up to bed. As he tucked the boy in, Henry opened his eyes sleepily and said, “I’m glad you love my daddy,” before drifting off again. John smiled, kissed his forehead, and went back downstairs.

Sherlock was on the couch, fiddling with his violin. John sat down next to him, and asked casually, “So, you love me, huh?”

Sherlock stiffened, then set the violin aside. “Well, yes,” he said. “It seems I do. But you love me too,” he added almost accusatorially. 

John chuckled. “It seems I do,” he said quietly, then leaned over and kissed Sherlock softly. “Though I’m not sure having your brother tell you for me would have been my first choice.”

“Not mine either,” Sherlock said with a soft laugh, then kissed John. John hummed in approval as Sherlock pressed kisses to his jaw and neck.

“Bedroom?” Sherlock asked.

“Bedroom,” John agreed.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Apparently this chapter posted 3 times, but everything's been fixed. Sorry for the confusion!

“Someone knows about us,” John said suddenly and quietly into the dark as he lay next to Sherlock.

Sherlock huffed and buried his nose in John’s neck. “It’s not as if we’ve been keeping our relationship a secret,” he murmured against John’s skin.

“I know,” John replied. “I mean...well, someone left a less-than-supportive comment on my last blog post about it. The post wasn’t even about relationships, and I’ve never written about us.”

Sherlock shrugged as best as one could while lying down. “There are bound to be people who are openly against gay relationships.”

John sighed. “I think you should just read it.” He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and opened the email with the comment. It was, of course, from an unknown sender.

_Anonymous  
My, my Johnny. You’ve been up to more than you’re letting on about, haven’t you? Got yourself a new ‘friend’? You should be careful. Kids are very impressionable, wouldn’t want any to get the wrong idea about your friend and his little boy now, would we?_

Sherlock scanned the comment, frowning as he did so. “Who exactly is he threatening?”

“Does it matter?” John asked. “He’s threatening someone, and he’s mentioned Henry.”

“Do you think he’s serious?” Sherlock mused. “Just because an anonymous threat’s been made doesn’t mean anything will come of it.”

“And you’re going to take that chance?” John asked quietly.

“What’s the alternative? End our relationship because a nameless entity on the internet may have threatened one of us?” Sherlock asked, handing the phone back to John.

Setting it on the nightstand, John rolled over to face Sherlock. “I don’t want that. I guess...let’s just be careful, and see if anything comes of it. Okay?”

“Mm,” Sherlock assented, and wrapped his arms around John to hold him close.  
***

The next day at work John felt like he was constantly on edge, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. Once the dismissal bell rang at the end of the day and all his students had gone, he sighed in relief. Maybe Sherlock was right and he was just overreacting to an inane comment trying to cause drama for drama’s sake. 

Just to be safe, though, that night he made a blog post saying he was going on hiatus. There was no need to attract any more unwanted attention. 

_Short Hiatus  
I’m taking a break from the blog for a bit. Nothing to worry about! Just need to focus on work - assessments take forever in Kindergarten. I’ll probably be back around Christmas break, hopefully with a few tips for the next round of assessments. Thanks for being patient, and keep an eye out for new posts towards the end of the year!_

Before bed, he checked the comments on his latest post. There were lots of well-wishers and ‘we’ll miss you!’s until he had scrolled to the end of the page. His heart sank when he read the text.

_Anonymous  
Giving up so soon, Johnny? I thought we might have had a little more fun. Guess we’ll have to find a different way to play, won’t we? Maybe I can get your ‘friend’ interested. He’s like me; we like games and puzzles. I do wonder what he sees in you. Anyway, talk to you later~ _

Underneath that was a concerned comment from Molly, Sherlock’s colleague at the morgue. She was very sweet and did her best to accommodate Sherlock’s ridiculous demands. Henry didn’t speak to her, but it was clear that he liked her very much. 

_Molly H  
John, is everything all right? Who is that^? They don’t seem very nice. Let me know if I can help!  <3 _

John sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. Clearly ignoring whoever this was hadn’t worked, which made John wonder if this was more than just a prank. He got out his phone and slowly typed a message.

I got another comment from that same anonymous person on the blog. JW

I told you that blog is a waste of time. SH

Sherlock, this isn’t a time to be joking. I think he’s serious. JW

Or she. But probably he. He’s just trying to rile you up by making that comment about my choice in partners. SH

Maybe. I still think this is more than a bored person looking for trouble. JW

All that’s happened so far are a few mildly creepy comments. You worry too much, John. SH

Okay, fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. JW

Goodnight. SH

John crawled into bed, suddenly feeling much more exhausted than he had fifteen minutes ago. 

***

When Grace ran up to John at recess with the look of the concerned, determined helper, John knew someone was crying somewhere. It happened at least once every recess; a child would fall or get pushed and begin crying, then one or two kids would come running to tell John as if it was their sworn duty to report any injured person on the playground. Generally the crying students were crying more out of surprise than actual injury, so John wan’t too worried.

His heart leaped into his throat when he realized it was Henry who was crying. He had seen Henry cry at school only once. John said thank you to the kids who were crowded around and told them to go play. He knelt down next to Henry and put an arm around his shoulders, but Henry jerked away. Grace hovered nearby, waiting to assist need be.

“Henry, are you okay? Did you get hurt?” John asked the crying boy, worry creasing his features.

Henry sniffed and shook his head, looking down at his hands. There was a crumpled piece of paper clutched in the left.

“Can I see?” John asked, tugging gently at the paper. Henry let it go without a fight.

John felt sick as he read the text. It wasn’t handwritten, so there wouldn’t be an easy way to trace it back to the writer. It said,

_you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe you are not safe  
it is mr watson’s fault_

John knew Henry had read and understood all of it as he was at a very high reading level, which would explain why he didn’t want to be near John. He pulled out his phone with shaking hands and called Sherlock.

“John?” came the slightly confused voice on the other end.

“Sherlock,” John said tightly. “You need to come pick Henry up from school.”

“What’s wrong?” Sherlock asked immediately.

“Henry - he’s been threatened. He’s okay, but you need to take him home,” John said quietly, trying to even out his voice.

“Threatened how?” Sherlock asked in a dangerously cool tone.

“He - he got a note. I didn’t see who gave it to him, and he won’t talk to me or even look at me. Because -” John choked up, then took a deep breath so he could continue. “The note repeats ‘you are not safe’ and then says ‘it is Mr. Watson’s fault.’ It’s the same commenter on my blog, Sherlock. It has to be.”

“I’ll be there soon,” Sherlock replied, then hung up.

“Henry, your dad will be here soon to pick you up,” John said in as friendly a tone as he could manage.

Henry did not respond.

***

John stopped by Sherlock’s apartment later than night with a heavy heart. There was only one way to keep Henry safe, and John was not looking forward to it. By the look on Sherlock’s face as he let John in, he knew what John was there for as well.

“Sherlock -” 

“I know, John,” Sherlock said quietly, pain evident in his voice.

“I don’t want to,” John said plaintively, as if he were a child hoping for an easy way out.

“Neither do I,” Sherlock said, enfolding him in a hug. “But...perhaps it only needs to be for a short while. Until I find whoever is doing this and make sure they never do it again,” he added coldly.

John nodded into his shoulder. “Okay,” he said in a whisper. Pulling away from the hug, he straightened himself out and a blank mask settled over his features. “Maybe I’ll see you later, then.”

“Maybe,” was all Sherlock could reply as he watched John limp out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for all the angst! I promise it will get better!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay! I think this is the longest chapter so far, so hopefully that makes up for it :) I think next chapter will be the last one, which is a little sad but it will be nice for this to be a completed work. Thanks for sticking with me!

The next week was miserable for John. He thought it would get better after a few days - and logically, it should have. There was no confusion about the breakup; it had to be done in order to protect Henry. Still, the heart wasn’t logical and John was glad it was almost the weekend. He couldn’t mope about at work; the kids would be sure to notice and it would affect their learning. 

As he got guided reading lessons ready for next week while the kids were at free choice centers, Henry approached his desk. John looked up in surprise and asked, “What do you need, Henry?”

Ever since the breakup, Henry had been disinclined to talk to John. He probably thought this was all John’s fault, especially after receiving that note at recess. John couldn’t blame him.

“Daddy’s sad,” he said quietly after a lengthy pause. “He still talks to you even though you don’t come over any more, and he was crying. I heard him in his room.” 

Henry’s eyes were wide with uncertainty and fright. John knew that sensation well. His father had not been a nice man, and John had listened to his mother cry more times than he cared to count. It was terrifying when your parent was crying and you were too young to know how to help.

“I’m sorry, Henry,” John said, his voice rougher than he would have liked. “I can’t come over any more. It’s to keep you safe.”

“But if Daddy catches the bad guy, then you could come to my house,” Henry said hopefully.

John smiled sadly. “Yes, but we shouldn’t get our hopes up. Even though your dad is very smart, he might not be able to catch this one.”

Henry sighed and nodded, as if he bore the weight of the world on his young shoulders. “Okay, Mr. Watson. But I can still see you at school and Lego club, so that’s good,” he added. John appreciated that in Henry; he could always find a positive.

“Yes, you can. Now can you go help your friends pack up the drawing supplies? It’s time to clean up,” John replied.

Henry nodded and did as he was told while John told the class that centers were over and it was time to clean up so they could pack up to go home.

***

After the kids had all been picked up, John was tidying things in the room when he saw a drawing on his desk that hadn’t been there before. It was a picture of Sherlock, Henry, and John all holding hands and smiling while a man, presumably Lestrade, put a man with a mad face in jail. The picture said, “To: Mr. Watson” on the top, and on the bottom it read, “Love, Henry.”

It broke John’s heart.

***

John had taken to lying on the couch and numbly watching TV for hours after he came home from work until it was time to go to bed. He was doing just that when his phone started ringing. It was tempting to ignore it, but John reached over and picked it up off the floor in case it was something about work.

The screen displayed Sherlock’s number.

Feeling as though his heart was trying to make an exit via his throat, John answered. “Hello?” he said, because the easy camaraderie between them was gone. All that was left was longing, awkwardness, and broken hearts.

“John,” Sherlock said urgently. “I need you to come over.”

John felt like he wanted to cry. This wasn’t fair. “Sherlock, we can’t. I thought we agreed on this. If -”

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock cut him off. “I need you to watch Henry. I have a case - it’s crucial that I leave now or I’ll miss perhaps my only opportunity and there’s no one else to watch him.”

John clenched the phone tightly in his hand. Was Sherlock insane, heartless, or both? They broke up for Henry’s safety, and now Sherlock wanted John to watch him? It didn’t make sense. It was also cruel to ask John to spend time in Sherlock’s home where it would be near impossible not to think about him.

“Please, John,” came Sherlock’s voice when John didn’t answer, a little softer this time.

“Okay,” John said quietly. “Just this once.”

“Thank you. I need you here as soon as possible,” Sherlock instructed, then the line went dead.

Taking only a moment to make himself presentable, John grabbed a book and his coat and headed out the door.

***

Mrs. Hudson answered the door looking as if she was just about to leave, and once she saw that it was John who had knocked her face creased in a delighted smile. “Oh, John! I’m so glad you and Sherlock are seeing one another again. He’s been dreadfully lonely ever since - well, you know.”

“I’m afraid I’m just here to watch Henry,” John said with a tight smile.

“Oh, well, that’s a shame,” Mrs. Hudson replied, trying unsuccessfully to mask her disappointment. “Sherlock asked me to watch him, but I have a meeting that I just can’t miss,” she explained.

John nodded, wondering briefly what sort of important meetings Mrs. Hudson went to. “That’s all right. I had nothing to do, anyway.”

Mrs. Hudson patted his arm sympathetically. “I hope you two can work it out. It’s not often you find someone so suited for you - especially in Sherlock’s case. Well, I have to go or I’ll be late. Good luck, dear.”

“Bye, Mrs. Hudson,” John said, then began the trek up the stairs to 221B. It would take a lot more than luck to fix their problem.

John narrowly avoided being run down by Sherlock at the top of the stairs. “Henry’s already had dinner,” Sherlock quickly informed. “And you know all the rest. He’ll need a bath tonight,” Sherlock added, and at least had the decency to look apologetic. “If there was anyone else -”

“Yes, I know,” John said shortly. “You’d better get going.”

Sherlock looked at him with an unreadable expression, then nodded before trotting down the stairs and rushing out the door.

“Hi, Henry,” John said as he entered the apartment uneasily. This place felt more like home than his own did, which made it all the more painful to be here. 

“You’re sad, too,” Henry declared.

“That obvious, huh?” John asked with a weary smile.

“Daddy teached me how to tell if people are sad,” he replied proudly.

“He taught you,” John corrected. “And of course he did. He’s a very smart man.”

Henry nodded and continued doodling in his notebook. He seemed slightly unsure of John’s presence, but also glad to have him there which John was grateful for.

“What are you drawing?” John asked as he took off his coat and walked over to sit down next to Henry.

“A house for my bunny,” Henry explained. “I’m gonna show Daddy that I know how to be insponsible for one. Wait,” he said, screwing up his face in confusion. “Repossible. No. What’s that word?”

“Responsible?” John ventured.

“Yeah! Responsible. Daddy said I can’t have a bunny until I’m responsible enough. So here it is!”

John listened with interest as Henry explained each part of the picture to him. It was a nice distraction from every little thing in the apartment that screamed ‘Sherlock’ to him.

“How about we build a little model of it? That would really impress your dad,” John suggested. “Do you have any craft supplies?”

Henry leapt to his feet and opened a low cabinet that was overflowing with just about every craft item available, and John smiled. As a kid he had been quite clever with his hands and spent time building all sorts of models. They didn’t have any instructions, but he was sure it wouldn’t be that difficult to build a model ‘bunny house.’ 

Time flew by as they worked together, and when they were finished John thought they had built a very respectable bunny house. Henry had made other props such as a food bowl, water dish, and hay rack and got a small stuffed bunny from his room to act in place of a real one. Henry rubbed his eyes sleepily, but beamed proudly at their creation. 

“It’s really good!” he exclaimed. “Daddy with have to let me have a bunny now.”

“Well I don’t know about all that, but I’m sure he’ll be impressed,” John replied. “Ready for your bath?”

Henry nodded and dashed off to the bathroom, because what was bath time but another opportunity to play? By the time John got there, Henry was filling the tub and had unloaded many toys into the shallow water. Quickly divesting himself of his clothes, Henry hopped in and lost no time in setting up a boats versus ducks and dinosaurs battle.

John hovered awkwardly; he’d never had to bathe anyone’s child before. Should he stay and keep an eye on Henry? The boy was five, though. Surely he wouldn’t drown in the bathtub.

“You need to wash my hair ‘cause I can’t do it ‘cause soap gets in my eyes,” Henry announced.

Well, that solved that problem. John gently washed his hair, making sure to keep soap far away from his eyes. Then he left the bathroom for a while to let Henry play, wandering around the apartment and tidying up here and there. When he was sure the bathwater could no longer be warm, he bundled Henry into a towel and with a slight struggle, into pajamas.

Henry was burrowed under the blankets in his bed and looking quite cozy when John turned to leave.

“Wait!” Henry called urgently. “You didn’t read me a story yet!”

Ah, of course. How could he have forgotten about a bedtime story? John picked up the book that was sitting on Henry’s nightstand and sat on the edge of his bed. Henry wiggled over so that he was leaning against John.

“Redwall?” John asked, not having heard of it before.

“Yes,” Henry replied. “Daddy said it has a _hare_ in it. That’s like a big bunny,” he explained. “We’re on chapter seven. There’s a bookmark!” he added, pointing to the paper sticking out of the book.

John read until Henry’s eyes drooped and didn’t snap back open. Easing himself out of Henry’s grasp, John set the book on the nightstand and made to sneak out of the room.

“You forgot my g’night kiss,” Henry mumbled sleepily from his cocoon of blankets.

John hesitated, then walked back to Henry’s side to smooth the curls off his forehead and press a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Henry.”

“‘night,” Henry replied as he drifted off to sleep.

John stood outside Henry’s door for a moment, trying to will his heart to stop paining him with every beat. It was this quiet pause that enabled him to hear a noise from downstairs that sounded distinctly like footsteps. On high alert, John moved as quietly as he could down the stairs. He made it about two feet away from the last stair when he felt a sharp sting in his neck. He turned immediately to find his attacker dressed in all black, wearing a mask to conceal any identifying features. John struck without hesitation, his body remembering years of training. A solid punch to the diaphragm bent the man in half and an elbow to the back of the neck had him on the floor. John was on him immediately, and a swift punch to the jaw had the man out cold. Wincing at the pain of bone-on-bone, John shook his hand and stood up. 

As he stepped away from the man to see if anyone else was in the flat, he stumbled. His limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated. Remembering the stinging sensation on his neck, he looked around and spotted a syringe several feet away on the floor; his assailant must have dropped it when John attacked. A wave of panic washed over him; what had he been injected with? Henry was still upstairs. What if the attacker regained consciousness before he did? He would never forgive himself if Henry was harmed. John tried to cross the room to get to his phone, but his legs gave way and he landed on the floor with a hard crash before his vision faded to black.

***

John was aware of a few things as he regained consciousness. Firstly, his mouth was incredibly dry. He groaned, but it came out as a raspy, croaking noise. His limbs still felt heavy and his mind sluggish, and he opened his eyes only to close them again in the glaring light. 

As he lay in great discomfort trying to puzzle out what the hell was going on, the events leading up to that moment came rushing back. He sat up suddenly with a hoarse cry, intent on getting to Henry’s room and seeing if he was okay. Before he got anywhere, he felt a large hand against his chest, pressing him back into the couch.

The couch. He had collapsed on the floor, and now he was on the couch. The blurry, bright image in front of him resolved into the concerned features of Sherlock’s face.

“Henry’s fine,” Sherlock said soothingly, handing John a glass of water. 

John relaxed and took the water gratefully, drinking it in small sips until he felt able to speak. “What happened?”

“I just got back minutes ago. You did quite a number on your assailant; he remains unconscious. Henry heard the noise and found you both, then called me.”

“He should have stayed upstairs,” John said instantly. “There could have been more of them.”

“This isn’t the army, John,” Sherlock said gently. “He was a frightened child seeking comfort. Of course he came downstairs.”

John nodded and sipped at his water. Of course that’s what a five-year-old would do; he just wasn’t thinking clearly. “Why was he here? That man?”

Sherlock’s expression grew dark. “An attempt to kidnap you, I think. Which would have most likely ended in your demise.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks. Very reassuring.”

“You asked for information, not reassurance.”

“I was just drugged, you know. Have some pity,” John said with a small smile.

Sherlock’s expression softened. “He was in the employ of a man named Moriarty, who also happened to be the man at the head of the kidnapping ring as well as many more notable crimes. He was the one who left the comments on your blog and the one who gave Henry the note. Well, I can’t be sure he gave Henry the note himself, but I’m certain it was from him.”

John frowned. “So he wanted me out of the picture, obviously. Was this some sort of massively sick way of...I don’t know, flirting with you?”

Sherlock looked grim. “He likes to play games. Puzzles. As do I. He thought-” a spasm of disgust crossed Sherlock’s features “-that we were suited for each other. He was delusional.”

“Was?” John echoed.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. “That’s where I was tonight. Tracking him down.”

John paled. “You killed him?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Sherlock replied shortly. “Though I would have if the need arose. He threatened my son and separated me from you. He could not be allowed to continue to exist. He was going to be arrested, but tried to attack me and was fatally shot by Lestrade.”

“Suppose I’ll have to thank him, then,” John replied.

Sherlock looked surprised for a moment, then chuckled. “Yes, I think thanks would be in order.”

Silence hung between them for a moment, as did the tension of unasked questions. John broke the silence first.

“Do you think...I mean, since he’s gone, do you think we could get back together?” He tried not to sound too hopeful; after all, Sherlock might still consider the situation too dangerous.

Sherlock offered a small smile. “If you still want to. I know things haven’t been easy for you.”

John nudged Sherlock’s knee with his own. “You either. Henry told me, you know.”

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, well. I missed you,” he admitted.

“I missed you, too,” John replied softly, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s lips.

“I called you an ambulance,” Sherlock said after they parted.

“Well that’s not very romantic,” John teased.

“You were drugged. It was appropriate.”

“I’m fine. Just need to sleep it off.”

“You will do no such thing. You’ll go to the hospital, where we can make sure you are going to be okay. Then I will take you back here and you will sleep in my bed so that I can easily monitor your vital signs,” Sherlock said adamantly.

“Is that so?” John asked with a grin.

“Yes,” came the staunch reply.

“All right then,” John said with a dramatic sigh. “I guess I can’t argue with that. One condition, though,” he added.

“And what is that?” Sherlock asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“You have to stay in bed with me,” John replied.

“Very agreeable terms, Mr. Watson. You have yourself a deal,” Sherlock said, and leaned forward to seal it with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The insponsible/repossible thing actually happened in my classroom last week, in case anyone was in disbelief about it ;)
> 
> Also, I realize that I very conveniently got rid of Moriarty, but I just couldn't do the angst haha. So if it was too unrealistic to you, please just suspend your disbelief and look forward to the next chapter ;)


	22. Chapter 22

Shortly after the attack, John moved in with Sherlock and Henry. It was a large step for such a new relationship, but both of them had been certain it was something they wanted to do. John had been in relationships before, but none of them had come with that feeling of certainty; the ‘yes, this is where I belong,’ until Sherlock. It made the decision easy, and easier still when they told Henry and the boy was so overjoyed at the prospect that he didn’t stop talking for ten minutes.

The transition was easy and natural. John had expected to have to work out kinks in their routines, but it somehow all slid easily into place. There were, of course, several times where John discovered experiments creeping onto the food side of the counter, but he was alone in the counter’s defense as both Sherlock and Henry were involved in the experimentation process. When confronted, Henry at least had the decency to look slightly abashed. Sherlock claimed they couldn’t help it that genius couldn’t be confined to a mere two-thirds of the counter, which made Henry giggle and softened John’s stern facade. 

John sat on the floor, helping Henry wrap presents for Sherlock. Henry had made him a bee figure out of a plastic ball covered in very shiny black and yellow gems, and was handling it with the utmost care as he placed it into a box.

“Papa,” Henry began as he tucked tissue paper around the bee. He had started calling John that soon after he’d moved in, and although John and Sherlock were not married nor had John officially adopted Henry, neither had the heart to correct him. “How come we’re wrapping presents for Daddy if Santa’s gonna bring us presents?”

“Because your dad’s on the naughty list,” John replied as he smooth a piece of tape over bright red wrapping paper. When he saw Henry’s distraught expression, he smiled and ruffled Henry’s curls. “Just joking, don’t worry. But even though Santa brings us presents, it’s still nice to get presents for each other.”

“Me and Daddy got you a present. A really _good_ present,” Henry said with a smug smile. “But it’s a secret so I’m not tellin’.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want my surprise to be ruined,” John replied, finishing off the present with a silver bow.

Henry looked slightly put out by this, but quickly recovered and continued to wrap his present with good cheer. “Daddy’s gonna love this present the best,” he said with utmost confidence.

“I’m sure he will,” John replied, equally certain.

***

Much to Sherlock’s chagrin, it was decided that a Christmas gathering would be held at 221B. His complaint was that they had hosted Thanksgiving and that had been more than enough for him, thank you very much. However, John retaliated with the fact that three of the six people attending already lived there, and one other was extremely close by. After a large amount of cajoling and a moderate amount of kissing, Sherlock had relented.

Christmas Day had not yet dawned when Sherlock and John were awoken by a rather exuberant bounce on their bed accompanied by a shout of “SANTA CAME COME LOOK AT ALL THE PRESENTS” before a pattering of feet told them that Henry had rushed back out to the living room. Sherlock pulled the blanket over his head and John groaned.

“He’s your son before sunrise,” John mumbled as he rubbed a hand over his face.

“What?” Sherlock asked, quirking his only visible eyebrow.

“Lion King quote. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen it,” John replied, rolling to face Sherlock.

“Of course I have. I just haven’t _memorized_ it,” he teased, planting a kiss on John’s nose. “Come on, let’s - _oof_ ,” he grunted as a hurtling projectile fueled by Christmas spirit landed once again in their bed. 

“Come _onnn_ ,” Henry pleaded, tugging at various limbs.

“We’re coming,” John said, remembering fondly his own Christmases as a child. 

Soon they were seated around the tree, with tea for the adults and hot chocolate for Henry, which was being ignored in favor of tearing open a present. There was much excited commentary as Henry opened his gifts, and the pile of discarded wrapping grew larger and larger. When Henry had opened everything for him, he crawled under the tree and pulled out a package that read “To: Papa, From: Daddy and Henry” on the tag. Henry plopped it in John’s lap and sat as close as he could without actually being in John’s lap along with the present. 

“Well doesn’t this look lovely,” John commented with a smile as he took in the many, _many_ bows decorating the top of the package. 

Henry smiled proudly and said, “Daddy helped me with the paper but I did the bows all by myself!”

John laughed and said in a mock-whisper, “I thought so. Your daddy doesn’t have much of an artistic eye, does he?”

Henry giggled as Sherlock pretended to be offended. “Open it up!” he urged.

John did so, being careful not to dislodge any of the bows. Inside the box was the complete series of M*A*S*H on DVD. John looked up in surprise. “How did you -”

Henry could contain himself no longer. “SURPRISE!” he shouted about three inches away from John’s face. “I figured it out!”

“But - how?” John asked, confused. Meanwhile, Sherlock looked on proudly.

“‘Cause I sometimes sneaked down the stairs to watch you when I couldn’t sleep for naps, and you were watching it on TV!” Henry explained. Then, when he realized he had admitted he hadn’t been taking a nap during nap time, he looked slightly guilty.

John enfolded him in a tight hug. “You are very clever, just as smart as your dad,” he said, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by how fortunate he was just to have met Sherlock and Henry, let alone live with them and be a part of their family. “Thank you very much. I love it.”

With a grin, Henry wriggled out of John’s grasp and retrieved a small box for Sherlock, which he handed over with great care before settling himself to Sherlock’s immediate right, half in his lap. Sherlock carefully unwrapped the present, sliding it out of the colorful paper packaging. Opening the box, he lifted out the sparkling bee.

“I made it all by myself!” Henry exclaimed with glee.

“It’s wonderful,” Sherlock said warmly, hugging Henry. “I think I should put it in a special place of honor.” Standing up, he walked to the mantle and placed the bee carefully next to the skull. “What do you think?”

Henry looked somewhat in awe that his creation was keeping the skull company. “It’s perfect!”

John smiled fondly at both of them, then began collecting the discarded wrapping paper. “Everyone’s going to be here in about an hour, so you two might want to change out of pajamas,” he warned.

When there was no response, John looked over at the pair. They were giving him identical ‘do we have to?’ looks. “Yes, you have to,” he said with a chuckle.

***

When Mrs. Hudson arrived, she immediately enfolded John, Sherlock, and Henry in a hug and made several comments about how happy she was for her boys. Henry wriggled out of the hug, Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled, and John said polite thank yous and how they were happy too. 

When Mycroft and Greg arrived, Sherlock glanced at them and then did a double take. “Oh god,” he groaned.

John looked up from his food preparation. “What?”

Sherlock just shook his head and waved at the two men in the doorway.

“I believe what my brother is trying to say is that Gregory and I are...ah, something of a couple,” Mycroft said delicately. Greg shrugged and grinned.

“His name’s not _Gregory_!” Henry piped up from where he was “helping” put the rolls on a plate (one of which was missing a significant portion).

Greg chuckled. “Greg is short for Gregory. But he’s the only one who calls me that. Not even my own mom does,” he teased, nudging Mycroft with his shoulder.

“I think it sounds nice,” Mycroft huffed.

“Oh, spare me,” Sherlock said, sweeping through the sitting room to look out one of the large windows. “Your car is still here,” Sherlock said, narrowing his eyes. “Why - you _didn’t_ ,” he said, aghast. 

“I don’t have any idea what you mean,” Mycroft smirked. 

“What?” Henry asked eagerly, tugging at Sherlock’s jacket. “What didn’t he do?”

Sherlock sighed. “You’ll find out soon enough, I imagine.”

John looked on curiously as Henry began pestering his uncle for answers. They didn’t have long to wait to find out, though. Two men dressed in impeccable black suits carefully carried in a very large box, several feet long and wrapped in shiny red paper with a large silver bow on top. An equally large gift tag read in precise curving script “To: Henry; Love, Uncle Mycroft.”

Henry’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he carefully approached the giant gift. “This is the biggest present I ever seen in my LIFE!” he exclaimed as he examined it from every angle. 

It was plain to see he was fit to burst from excitement, so John said, “Go ahead, you can open it. We’ll do the others after dinner.”

With glee Henry pulled the oversized bow off and tossed it behind him, then began tearing the paper. “Oh! Daddy, look!” he shouted as he uncovered the mysterious gift. He was darting back and forth, frantically getting the paper off. “It’s just like the one me and Papa made!

Once all the paper had been removed, it was easy to see that what Mycroft had brought was a life-size version of the ‘bunny house’ John and Henry had created together. It looked exquisitely crafted and included everything a bunny might need.

From inside the closed-off hutch area there was a small rustling noise. Henry immediately stilled, then carefully crouched down next to the cage and peered inside the small opening. A fuzzy white head with floppy ears poked out, nose twitching as it took in its new surroundings.

The only sound Henry managed to make was a small squeak.

“I was assured he’d be quite friendly,” Mycroft began. “His breed is known for their friendly temperaments. He’s a -”

“Holland Lop!” Henry interrupted with a grin. “You can tell cause he’s so tiny and he has floppy ears and a squishy face.”

Mycroft smiled. “Indeed. And when he’s old enough, I will cover the cost of having him neutered.”

Henry jumped up and barreled into his uncle, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist. “Thank you for my bunny this is the best present ever!” He pulled back, and after a moment’s hesitation he hugged Greg, too. 

“How old is he?” Henry asked, kneeling once again in front of the cage to peer at the small rabbit, who had emerged from the enclosed space.

“Nine weeks,” Mycroft replied with a small smile.

“Can you help me get him out?” Henry asked.

Mycroft hesitated slightly, and Greg stepped in smoothly. “I used to have rabbits when I was a kid,” he explained, immediately and unknowingly endearing himself to Henry forever. “I can probably help you out,” he said with a grin.

They didn’t have much trouble with it. As soon as Henry opened the door, the small rabbit immediately came to check it out and Greg confidently and carefully scooped him up, depositing him in Henry’s arms.

Henry looked in awe at the small creature, gently petting his head. “I’m gonna name him Bluebell, cause he has blue eyes,” Henry declared. “And I’m gonna take the best care of him, I promise!” he added sincerely.

Despite Sherlock’s earlier protests about letting Henry have a rabbit, John caught him looking on at the scene with overwhelming fondness.

“You’re a big softie,” John murmured teasingly as he nudged Sherlock with his shoulder.

“And don’t you dare breathe of word of it to anyone. I have a reputation to uphold,” Sherlock replied quietly.

John grinned, then said, “All right, who’s ready for dinner?”

***

When everyone had left and Henry had been put to bed (after a long argument about how he could not sleep on the floor next to Bluebell), John collapsed onto his and Sherlock’s own bed with a contented sigh.

“I had one more present I was going to give you, but I think I’m too exhausted,” John said, looking over at Sherlock, who was changing into pajamas.

“Why would giving me a present require - ah. Sex.”

John rolled onto his side. “You spoil all the fun. Take the mystery right out of things.”

“It’s what I do,” Sherlock replied with a smirk. “Now get changed so we can go to bed.”

With an exaggerated, put-upon sigh, John got up and did as he was told. “You don’t even sleep half the time. Why are you so eager to go to bed?”

“I’m not. But you need your sleep,” Sherlock said, just a little too quickly.

John crawled in bed with a grin. “You just like to be in bed with me. Admit it,” he teased.

Sherlock coughed. “There is a certain...level of comfort and calm when you are near, yes,” he replied stiffly.

John laughed and turned out the light, then snuggled up against Sherlock’s back and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I knew it,” he said smugly into the back of Sherlock’s neck.

After a moment of silence, Sherlock said, “It would be unacceptable for you to leave.”

“Well I’m pretty beat, so I don’t think I’m going anywhere for-”

“No,” Sherlock cut him off. “I don’t mean now. I mean...ever,” he explained haltingly.

“Oh,” John replied, slightly stunned.

Sherlock turned over to face John. “I want you to stay,” he said quietly, vulnerability flickering across his features.

To his surprise, John chuckled. “Did you just propose to me?”

“Well, I - ah, I didn’t mean-” Sherlock began, flustered.

“Did you just propose to me on _Christmas_?” John giggled, grin widening. “Has my life turned into a rom-com?”

Frowning, Sherlock moved to turn over, but John held him fast in place. “I’m sorry,” John said, kissing Sherlock gently. “You just caught me off guard. I’ll stay.”

Sherlock smiled his actual, genuine smile. It was one of John’s favorite things in the world. “Are you accepting my proposal, then?”

“Yeah, but I thought it wasn’t a prop-”

John’s answer was cut off by Sherlock’s lips against his. “Good,” he murmured as he tucked his head under John’s chin.

“Yeah,” John replied, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha forgive me for the most cliche ending of all time. Anyway, thank you all so much for following the story (despite the many delays) and for your comments and kudos! I really appreciate your dedication, and I hope you enjoyed the last chapter! <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Learning Curve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075022) by [sevenpercent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpercent/pseuds/sevenpercent)




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